


fight like lions; sacrifice like lambs

by faikitty



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Arguing, Blood and Violence, Dancing, Established Relationship, Fai generally being a dumbass, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Men Crying, Miscommunication, Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Swordfighting, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, well minor flashbacks, you will pry Fai having PTSD from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-10-18 04:18:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 47,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17573735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faikitty/pseuds/faikitty
Summary: Sometimes, in a jungle world with danger that is both expected and not, strength must be more than physical.





	1. a new day

**Author's Note:**

> post-canon, established relationship; set a few worlds after Nirai Kanai

Fai and Syaoran land in the new country with a soft “whump.” Kurogane lands with more of a strangled yell.

Fai lies there for a moment, disoriented, the landing having consisted of a whirlwind of colors and sensations and a quick spike of pain. He rests on his back on something soft and stares up at a blue sky—no, green? He blinks, and the shapes come into focus. He isn’t looking the sky but rather a thick canopy high above of huge, bright green leaves through which sunlight filters. It casts splotches of light on the soft, dark green moss that Fai sees when he sits up, the same moss that broke his fall. He thinks at first that the force with which he landed is the reason he can’t catch his breath. Then he realizes his breathlessness is due to the heat. Even with the canopy blocking much of the harsh sunlight, the air still seems to burn up before it can fully reach his lungs.

Mokona stirs in Fai’s lap, apparently immune to the heat. “Safe landing!” she cheers. Fai huffs a strand of hair from in front of his mouth.

“Where are we?” Syaoran asks, sitting up next to Fai with a dazed look on his face. Behind him, the jungle stretches out for miles—or perhaps it doesn’t. It’s impossible to tell with the thick vines wrapped around the trees that close them in completely, each vine spotted with bright flowers of every color imaginable. Fai and Syaoran were fortunate to have landed on the moss rather than on one of the branches.

Kurogane was _not_ so fortunate. Fai follows the sound of his struggling with his eyes to find Kurogane tangled in a mess of vines, all curled like snakes around his limbs.

“Kurogane is stuck!” Mokona announces gleefully from Fai’s arms.

“Do you do this to me on purpose?” Kurogane growls. Fai laughs as he realizes Mokona was right: Kurogane _is_ stuck. The vines have wrapped themselves too tightly around his wrists for him to even _try_ to reach for Ginryû, and every movement seems to make them constrict further. All he can do is glare helplessly down at Fai. “Stop laughing and _do_ something!”

Fai does nothing. “What do you want _me_ to do?” he asks with a grin. Kurogane scowls and opens his mouth to yell something else, but Syaoran has already jumped up and is hurrying over to where Kurogane is tangled up to whack at the vines. He chops at them with so much enthusiasm that Fai worries he’s going to chop off one of Kurogane’s limbs instead. Kurogane sighs and starts to reassure Syaoran that he’s okay when the vines split beneath his weight and cut off the end of his sentence.

This time, Kurogane lands with a “whump” as well. Fai’s laughter only increases.

Kurogane does not drop his glare as he looks up at Fai, who offers him a hand. He ignores the hand, as well as the grin on Fai’s face. “You are useless,” Kurogane informs him as he rises to his feet.

“Yes, yes,” Fai agrees. He shoves lightly against the back of Kurogane shoulder to push him in front of him, cradling Mokona in his other arm. “Now lead the way. You can take out your anger on the vines.”

Kurogane’s only response is a huffed growl, but he does as Fai says. Even with Ginryû’s sharp edge, they move slowly through the dense jungle. Some of the vines take multiple hacks to cut through and are prone to coming flying back to whack one of the members of the group in the face. It’s funny the first time, even to Kurogane—perhaps _especially_ to Kurogane—when one returns to smack Fai on the forehead. It’s less funny when one knocks Syaoran completely off his feet. Fai and Syaoran stay a few steps behind Kurogane after that.

This country truly is sweltering. Fai’s skin prickles with sweat that glues his shirt to his body. The heat is suffocating, even with the thick canopy above casting them into spotty shadow. Without it, Fai fears it would be difficult to breathe at all. He’s impressed Kurogane hasn’t passed out from heatstroke, given the increasingly frustrated ferocity with which he chops at the never-ending vines that block their path. Fai is surprised someplace this hot can have any plants growing in it, but it has more than most. The entire jungle is lush and full, dotted with bright pink and orange flowers and fruits, blue and purple berries poking out of emerald bushes. The forest is filled with animals as well; chirps and trills fill the air from all around. Fai may be struggling in the heat, but the other beings living in this country are thriving in it.

Kurogane shows no sign of being affected by the heat aside from an increase in irritability. Fai has only been hit by vines swinging back at his head so far, but he’s wary of that changing. He trusts Kurogane not to _intentionally_ hurt him, but he doesn’t trust _himself_ not to accidentally walk into a blow while he’s blinded by stinging sweat.

“You know they can’t actually feel you, right?” Fai comments from what he hopes is a safe distance away. Kurogane pauses just long enough to glance over his shoulder with narrowed, annoyed eyes before hacking at the vines with even more force. Fai takes another step back just in case.

Kurogane breaks through another curtain of vines to reveal the blinding sunlight of a clearing. Fai is wary to step into the light, worried direct sunlight will burn them. Kurogane charges forward with no hesitation. He doesn’t react to the change in heat, so Fai takes a tentative step into the sun. It isn’t anywhere as intense as he was expecting. The abrupt absence of trees has allowed for a breeze to kick up; it ruffles his hair as it blows past, taking with it some of the sweat on his skin. The wind smells almost sweet, fruity and pleasant, and Fai closes his eyes for a moment to enjoy it.

Syaoran ducks around him and jogs ahead to catch up with Kurogane. It takes Fai only a few strides to draw even with them, hand fitting to small of Kurogane’s back now that he longer has to worry about Kurogane accidentally hitting him.

“Does this country have any people in it?” Syaoran wonders aloud as he looks around the clearing.

Fai doesn’t even try to do the same; the glare of the sun makes him wince. He tilts his head in consideration. It’s a fair question, given the density of the jungle and the scorching heat of the world. “I’m curious about that too,” he says. “It may be a good thing if it doesn’t. It might be easier for us to find Sakura-chan’s feather if we’re—”

Fai has his breath knocked out of him for the second time that day.

Mokona calls his name as something slams into him hard enough to bruise. Fai lands on his back with enough force that any air the heat left in his lungs is shoved out. Spots dance in his vision as his head slams on the ground. Hands brace against his shoulders as he sits up slowly with a groan, closing his eyes against the stars. The hands are Syaoran’s; they have to be, because Fai hears the ear-splitting sound of metal on metal that he recognizes as Kurogane’s sword connecting with something. He shakes his head to clear his vision so he can see the face of their attacker, raising his fingers in preparation to cast a spell.

“Your majesty?” Syaoran shouts in surprise at the same moment Fai realizes who exactly the dark blur in front of him is.

Touya has no reaction; he's likely not a king in this country, Fai suspects, and even if he were, he would have no time to react. Kurogane is swinging at him, knocking him to the ground, and Touya barely manages to roll to one side before Kurogane’s blade comes crashing down exactly where he was. Touya is back on his feet in an instant to return Kurogane’s attack. Kurogane narrowly blocks it.

This Touya is a good fighter. Fai is far from an expert in sword fighting, but Touya is holding his own against and Kurogane is smirking in a way that tells Fai he’s enjoying himself in a challenging fight. They return each other’s attacks evenly. The movements are too quick for Fai to follow. Even Syaoran looks overwhelmed as he watches them fight. Touya pays Fai and Syaoran no mind. His sole focus is on Kurogane. He can’t afford to look anywhere else.

Fai lowers his hand as he determines that he and Syaoran are in no danger. "I don't think he's a king here," Fai tells Syaoran. "I think he's some kind of warrior." His head still hurts, and he’s _hot_ , so he’s more than happy to recline back in the soft moss to watch. Kurogane can fight; Fai will cheer him on.

“Shouldn’t we help?” Syaoran asks, looking between Kurogane and Fai in indecision. He’s stiff, braced to pull out his sword, so Fai throws an arm over his shoulder to drag him down onto the moss beside him. Syaoran blinks at him in confusion.

Fai shakes his head with a smile. “Let Kuro-sama have his fun.”

Kurogane _is_ having fun. He doesn’t need a poker face to throw off his enemies, because the wild smile on his face more than does the job. Fai has often scolded him, telling to fight less, to use his words instead of his sword, but Fai doesn’t mind watching Kurogane fight. He might even _like_ watching him, if he’s being honest. Watching Kurogane fight is like watching a carefully choreographed dance, each move calculated in the span of a millisecond to exactly the right angle. Kurogane has been a good fighter the entire time Fai has known him, but he’s grown even better over their journey together, sloppy force refined to deadly precision. Like this, in a fight Kurogane is guaranteed to win but not without some difficulty, Kurogane is at his best. Times like these are the only moments in which Kurogane ever looks _excited_. Fai would have preferred to have _not_ been knocked off his feet by Touya, but he doesn’t mind the end result. Any day he can see Kurogane look happy is a good one.

He won’t complain about this chance to admire Kurogane’s muscles either.

A grin flashes on Kurogane’s face as his sword flashes in the sunlight. Touya slices across. Kurogane jabs forward. Touya steps back just as Kurogane’s sword tears past his ear.

“Hey, don’t kill him!” Fai calls from his safe, soft seat in the moss.

Touya stabs back at Kurogane. Kurogane blocks it with more ease than before, even as he glares at Fai for half of a second. “Shut up!” he yells back. He jumps away as Touya steps forward.

Touya meets his next blow. He holds Kurogane’s sword with his own. “Lower your weapon!” Touya demands in the moment of stillness.

Kurogane swings down and back and nearly manages to rip the sword from Touya’s grasp. “ _You_ attacked _me_ ,” he growls. He thrusts Ginryû forward; the metal slices through Touya’s shirt and catches his skin over his ribs. Touya turns with the motion, spinning so his sword slices into Kurogane’s upper arm.

Fai winces. Syaoran grabs Fai’s wrist. That _had_ to have hurt, but Kurogane’s eyes only go more pleased and his grin only broadens as his sword clashes once more into Touya’s. Fai isn’t worried. Kurogane will win; he always does. Touya may be a good fighter in this country, but he’s not as good as Kurogane and is already beginning to slow. Touya’s next swing goes wide. The pommel of Kurogane’s sword catches him in the cheek hard enough to make him stumble back. Touya is about to renew his attack once more when there’s a shout.

“ _Toya_!”

Fai thinks he knows that voice and the shortened way it says Touya’s name. Sure enough, when he turns he sees Yukito ducking into the clearing from beneath a low branch, out of breath with a basket of plants in his arms.

“Y-Yukito-san too?” Syaoran asks. Fai isn’t sure why Syaoran is surprised; he wonders if a single country exists where Touya and Yukito _aren’t_ together.

Kurogane pauses. Touya freezes at the sound of his name. “Get _out_ of here!” Touya sounds worried. He doesn’t drop his gaze from Kurogane’s face, but his eyes dart over to Yukito as he draws closer while his grip goes white-knuckled on his sword.

Yukito doesn’t listen. He drops the basket, its contents spilling out over the forest floor, and rushes to Touya’s side. Touya immediately sweeps Yukito behind him, keeping his gaze even on Kurogane, his eyes even fiercer now. “ _Stop_ ,” Yukito pleads, grabbing Touya’s arm. “Nakamura is alone. Can’t you see this man has companions?”

Touya finally looks over to where Fai and Syaoran sit. Fai smiles and waves. Touya frowns as he glances back at Kurogane, but his sword remains in front of him. “You’re not Nakamura?”

“Who the hell is that?” Kurogane asks, dropping Ginryû to his side as it becomes clear Touya won’t attack him again. He’s going to be annoyed all day at the fight ending without a clear victor, Fai knows.

Touya eyes Kurogane warily for another moment then lowers his sword slowly. “You’re really not him.”

“I _told_ you,” Yukito scolds. Touya turns back to look at him, and Yukito touches the blossoming bruise on Touya’s cheekbone, brows knitting together in concern. “You’re hurt.”

Touya smiles. It feels so intimate that Fai wonders if he should look away. “I’m fine, Yuki,” he says gently. Something passes between them in that moment, in the frown on Yukito’s face and the smile on Touya’s, in the affection plain in both of their eyes—even if Yukito’s eyes _are_ concerned—that makes Fai wonder if they have finally crossed the invisible boundary that has always seemed to separate them in others. He thinks he’s wrong when Touya sighs at Yukito’s insistence that Touya is _not_ fine, Touya got _hurt_ and he is _bleeding_. Touya flicks his forehead to shut him up. Once the wounded look leaves his face, Yukito leans up to kiss the bruise on Touya’s cheekbone.

Not wrong at all, it seems.

Fai glances up at Kurogane as he approaches. “You’re hurt too,” Fai comments as he stands. “Getting sloppy in your old age?” He sets a gentle hand on the cut on Kurogane’s arm. It isn’t a bad injury by any means, but it’s jagged and deep enough that it looks painful.

“I still would have won,” Kurogane protests. “It’s just a tiny scr—” He breaks off with a hiss as Fai gives the “tiny scratch” an experimental poke.

“You never change, do you?” Fai sighs. “Would a kiss make it feel better?”

Kurogane stares at him as if he’s lost his mind. Fai grins and motions at Touya and Yukito. “Huh.” Kurogane doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest to see the two of them together. “It’s about time.”

“The offer still stands,” Fai says, quirking a brow. Kurogane doesn’t seem surprised by _that_ either. Touya’s and Yukito’s approach cuts off what Fai is quite certain would have been a refusal.

“What are you all doing out here?” Yukito asks, looking between them. “Saiki-dono has already told everyone not to enter the jungle until Nakamura is captured.”

“About that,” Fai says. “Who or what is Nakamura?”

Touya and Yukito exchange a glance. “You’re… not from Aria, are you?” Yukito asks slowly. Aria—the name of this country, Fai guesses.

“Everyone is from another world!” Mokona shouts, shooting up to hop onto Kurogane’s shoulder. “Everyone came here for Sakura’s feather!”

Touya and Yukito stare at it for a few drawn out breaths as Mokona beams down happily at them. “I’m sorry if this seems rude,” Yukito starts, “but what are—”

“What _is_ that thing?” Touya interrupts. He grabs Mokona and tugs at her ears as if that will answer his question.

Mokona squirms out of his grip and back onto Kurogane’s shoulder. “Mokona is Mokona!”

“That’s… not an answer,” Touya says. “And what do you _mean_ you’re from another world? Is that a metaphor or something?”

“Everyone is from different worlds!” Mokona explains without explaining. She hops to Kurogane’s head as Kurogane reaches up to snatch her off his shoulder.

“What does—” A rustling in the bushes cuts Yukito off as he jumps and spins to face it. Touya does the same, stepping protectively in front of Yukito with his sword drawn and his eyes narrowed. All that emerges is a tiny, fluffy, white creature with a bunny-like nose and a cat-like tail. It looks as surprised to see them as they are to see it and darts immediately back into the underbrush.

Yukito visibly relaxes, but Touya keeps his hand tightly on his sword as he turns back to face them. “We need to go,” Touya says quietly. “We shouldn’t be out in the jungle like this. We aren’t safe here.”

“You should come with us,” Yukito adds. “I… don’t really know what you mean when you say you’re from another world, but your clothes and that… um, Mokona… make me think you’re telling the truth. You can explain it properly once we’re safe. If you really _are_ from another land, the chief will want to meet you.”

* * *

 The path out of the jungle is a long, winding one that takes them long enough to traverse that the sky is beginning to grow dark by the time they reach their destination. It may be for the best that Touya attacked them; they would likely have never made it out on their own. Touya leads them, remaining defensive while Yukito remains on edge. He follows small, light blue ribbons tied to branches and vines, tiny bells tied to each of them that twinkle faintly in the breeze. Their sound is buried beneath the chirping of songbirds and whistling of wind, and the ribbons themselves are hidden, tucked away behind broad leaves that Touya lifts carefully. This part of the jungle, too, is dense and saturated with colorful flowers and fruits. Touya and Yukito relax noticeably when the density gives way to thinner brush before completely vanishing as they break into a clearing that is much larger than the one they were in before.

The village is just as colorful as the jungle. The grass is soft beneath Fai’s feet as they walk past rows of houses that consist of dark, deep brown wood and lighter, dried brush roofs. Fai had been expecting to see everyone locked inside, given Touya’s and Yukito’s wariness in the jungle. He’s surprised to see many people milling about near the center of town, all wearing bright, loose-fitting clothing. Children run and splash about in a small fountain, and Fai doesn’t see any parents fretting over their safety. The fear of this “Nakamura” is only visible outside of town, he guesses. They receive a few sideways glances from people as they walk by, but Yukito soothes any suspicion with a smile and Touya with a frown. Fai barely notices the occasional look of distrust after having fallen unceremoniously into so many worlds. It’s far stranger when they arrive in a world where they _don’t_ stick out like a sore thumb.

Yukito had said the chief would want to meet them. Fai had been anticipating something more similar to Ashura’s castle in Celes or Shirosagi in Nihon, but the place Touya leads them to is made of the same branches and reeds as the other houses. Its only defining feature is its size: it’s _huge_. The other houses were small, cozy, familial, but this place—a palace, perhaps, although it would be a palace unlike any Fai has seen before—could easily fit ten of those homes within its walls. It looks less like a palace and more like an enormous house built for a giant.

“We’ve returned, Saiki-dono!” Yukito announces as Touya swings the wooden doors open for them. “We’ve brought guests!”

Stepping inside, Fai realizes this _is_ a palace. It’s even larger on the inside than it was on the outside. Yukito’s voice echoes through a grand hall. The walls mimic the jungle outside, flowers and cloth woven into the dark wood, turning every inch of it into a rich tapestry of colors and making the interior appear open and welcoming. Somewhere high above, buried in arched ceilings, a songbird chirps to its mate, who answers with a trill of its own. Syaoran’s eyes are wide with wonder when he bumps into Fai, visibly awed and overwhelmed by the landscape. Fai catches him before he can stumble down the small step into the center of the room.

“Welcome back, Yukito-kun.” The voice is low, soft but strong, carrying all the way down the hall from its source at the opposite end: a man, sitting in a large woven chair, broad shouldered with short, light brown hair. The sight of him sparks a memory that Fai can’t quite place of a man with a similar name and face in Tokyo. The turn of his mouth is firm and no-nonsense, but as they approach, Fai can see something in the depths of his dark eyes that feels worth trusting. “Who have you brought to me?”

Yukito opens his mouth to introduce them, but Mokona gets there first. “This is Syaoran!” Mokona announces eagerly as she leaps onto Syaoran’s head. “And Fai!” She hops on top of Fai. “And—”

“Kurogane,” Kurogane interrupts, snatching Mokona out of the air before she can call him by one of Fai’s nicknames.

The man named Saiki does not stare. He is a true ruler, one who is far too diplomatic to express surprise or worry. He reminds Fai of Ashura in that way. Saiki does not stare, no, but his gaze lingers, not on Mokona but on Fai and Kurogane, for a second too long. Fai notices it; he suspects Kurogane does too. Saiki smooths over the faint surprise on the edges of his lips—surprise at what, Fai doesn’t know. He turns his gaze back to the strange little white ball that spoke.

“You have an interesting pet,” Saiki comments.

Mokona frowns and flips herself out of Kurogane’s grip to perch atop his head instead. “Mokona is not a pet!”

Saiki smiles. “My apologies, Mokona.” Fai is impressed; it’s unusual for people to adapt to Mokona’s strange appearance and attitude so quickly. “May I inquire as to your business here?”

“We’re looking for a feather,” Syaoran says as Fai glances at him.

Saiki tilts his head. “You’re in luck. We have a great many of those.” Syaoran shakes his head with a frown. After a few minutes of explanation, Saiki sighs. “I see. We have _none_ like that. I’m sorry.”

Syaoran’s shoulders slump ever so slightly, and Fai rests a supportive hand on one. “If Mokona brought us here,” Fai explains, “the feather, or at least something _like_ it, should be here. Would it be possible for us to stay someplace nearby tonight so we can return the jungle to look more tomorrow?”

“No,” Saiki says so quickly that Fai is taken aback. Saiki raises his hand at the surprise on his face. “That’s not what I mean. You _can_ stay here. But I must discourage you from entering the jungle again. I have forbidden all of my people from entering it without my express permission. It’s simply too dangerous.”

“What about Yukito-san and Touya-san?” Syaoran asks.

“I have Toya to protect me. I don’t have to worry about being hurt as long as he’s around,” Yukito replies, elbowing Touya lightly in the ribs. Touya scoffs and looks away. “I guess I have to worry about him hurting _other_ people, though.”

Kurogane frowns. “He didn’t hurt me,” he mutters under his breath. “We’d be fine on our own,” he adds more loudly. “What the hell makes the jungle so dangerous that you don’t let anyone in it?”

Saiki looks torn. A flicker of emotion very _un_ like Ashura passes over his face. “A criminal escaped here recently—a dangerous one, too. He murdered several of my men before being captured, and now he is loose again. He bears a personal grudge against me. I have good reason to suspect that he will return here.” Saiki sighs. “You are not my people. You may do as you wish. But I caution you against going back into the jungle. Nakamura is dangerous. I have known no one to escape from our prisons. Only him, and only recently.”

The mysterious _Nakamura_ : a dangerous murderer. No wonder Touya attacked them without thinking. “We could try another approach,” Fai suggests. “We could look around town first and only go back to the jungle if we have to.”

“If you wish to speak with many people, you could come to our festival tomorrow evening,” Saiki says. “You did say that this feather you seek often winds up in the possession of someone who would use it, either for great harm or great good. Our summer solstice festival is the most well-attended event of the year. All of Aria will gather together once the sun goes down to enjoy it—music, drinks, dancing, fighting… If anyone has your feather—or if they know of its whereabouts—they will be there.”

“We’ll go,” Syaoran says without hesitation. Fai nods, and Kurogane crosses his arms, Mokona hanging off of his head. Saiki smiles as he gazes at them, all of their eyes filled with determination.

Then Syaoran yawns.

“Sorry,” Syaoran says from behind his hand, his face flushing as he looks down.

Saiki laughs. “Come. You must be tired from your travels, and it’s late. I have rooms to spare in the palace—enough for each of you.” He grabs a lantern as he rises from his chair and starts to lead them down the hall. Fai waves at Yukito before following Saiki; Yukito waves back and leaves to rejoin Touya.

The palace is large enough that Fai has no doubt it has space for them. He suspects it could fit half the people they’ve met on their journey if need be. It’s all one single floor, with small, winding hallways that twist and turn, thick vines forming additional barriers. Saiki leads them through a veritable maze of paths before stopping in front of a set of rooms. “You may have free reign of the palace and village while you’re here, but I implore you to stay out of the jungle,” he reminds them as he slips into each room to light lamps within.

Fai follows him into one. The room is little more than a bed, a table, and a lamp, but after their day of traveling and the multiple times Fai has had his feet knocked out from under him, he needs little more than a vaguely horizontal surface to fall asleep right now. “Thank you for letting us stay here,” Fai says as Saiki makes to leave.

Saiki turns with an amicable smile. “My pleasure. I’ll leave you to get settled in. You’ll have some time tomorrow to do as you wish before the festival, so please feel free to come and go as you like until then.”

Fai trails a few feet behind Saiki as he steps back out then watches his back recede down the hallway until a sharp turn cuts it off. Kurogane has taken the room directly across, meaning Syaoran must be one door down. Syaoran was already exhausted when they arrived; the last country they were in kept him awake for far too long, and they had had little time to rest before Mokona swooped them up and took them to the next world. As expected, when Fai pokes his head into the room Syaoran is sitting cross-legged on the bed, his eyes closed and his head bobbing. “Syaoran-kun,” Fai calls softly.

Syaoran jumps and looks at Fai with unfocused eyes. “I’m awake.”

“I was just going to tell you to lie down to sleep,” Fai says. Syaoran looks down and blushes.

Mokona bounds into the room before Syaoran can speak. “Mokona will sleep with Syaoran,” she says, jumping up to nuzzle against Syaoran’s cheek. He smiles and cups Mokona in his hand. “Mokona doesn’t want Syaoran to be lonely.”

“That’s a good idea.” Fai lingers in the doorway just long enough to see Syaoran lie down with Mokona balled up beneath his arm. Syaoran’s breathing changes to the slow, steady inhales and exhales of sleep within seconds.

Fai closes the door behind him as he leaves. He doesn’t return to his room; he heads straight into Kurogane’s. Kurogane doesn’t react at all when he enters. They haven’t slept apart for several worlds now; there’s no reason to start now. “I’m a bit surprised Saiki-dono let us stay here,” Fai muses as he takes a seat on Kurogane’s bed and starts to undo his shirt. “He seems very kind.”

“He’s not _kind_ ,” Kurogane says, voice low. Fai can’t see his face, but he knows Kurogane’s eyes are narrowed by the sound alone. “He’s calculating. He’s letting us stay here to keep an eye on us.”

Fai pauses. “That may be true.” He reaches up to untie his hair and shakes it out so that it falls over his shoulders before returning to his shirt. “But he didn’t send us back out into the jungle to die. That’s something.”

Kurogane makes a sound of begrudging agreement as he sits up, arm going around Fai’s waist to tug him in close, his other hand brushing Fai’s hair out of the way so he can kiss the back of his neck. Fai’s eyes lid, and his fingers forget what they were doing as his mind forgets its exhaustion. Kurogane’s lips are rough on his neck, sending a chill down his spine. “If he’s keeping an eye on us,” Fai breathes when he remembers how to, “it’s probably because you’re so suspicious.”

“ _I’m_ suspicious?” Kurogane growls; his voice, rumbling so close to Fai’s ear, raise goosebumps on Fai’s skin. “If anyone is suspicious, it’s you. You and that manjuu.”

“Maybe so,” Fai agrees. He turns to look at Kurogane, allowing himself to be pulled into Kurogane’s lap. He kisses Kurogane, and he’s intending to keep his kiss gentle but it’s very difficult indeed with Kurogane’s hand dragging over his hip and Kurogane’s teeth nipping at his lower lip. Fai’s mouth falls open in a soft noise of want, and Kurogane takes the chance to lick inside before dropping his head to bite at the sensitive skin in the crook of Fai’s neck. “Maybe we’re all suspicious,” Fai manages shakily, closing his eyes.

“Could be.” Kurogane bites at Fai’s neck once more before kissing his jaw and tugging open the shirt Fai had forgotten entirely to take off. He runs his thumb over the increasingly rapid pulse in Fai’s throat. “Now shut up.”

Fai shuts up.

* * *

 Fai wakes late the next day. He only has a vague idea of the time because of the temperature. The light streams in through the window, and he kicks the sheets away from where they’ve tangled themselves up in his legs with a groan. It’s _hot_. He spreads out over the bed so that none of his body parts are touching another. Kurogane is already gone, which is good for him and bad for Fai, because Fai would like nothing more than to see how angry he could make Kurogane by gathering him up in a sweaty hug.

Fai crawls out of bed after a few minutes and splashes water on his face before going to find Syaoran and Kurogane. He miraculously doesn’t get lost on his way out of the palace, and he discovers his companions at a stand near the center of town. Syaoran waves him over and hands him a drink made of mixed up fruits. “It’s good,” Syaoran says. “And it’s cold.”

Fai doesn’t need to be told twice.

Growing up in two worlds made entirely of ice, Fai is still getting used to fruits and flowers. The drink is cold and sweet on his tongue, and Fai feels as if he was cheated out of an incredible experience for his entire life by living someplace fruit couldn’t grow. He drinks most of it before remembering Kurogane is there, watching him with disgust with his hands notably free. Fai holds the drink out while he swallows. Kurogane shakes his head adamantly. Fai shrugs and downs the last of it. “Did you decide what we’ll do today?” he asks as he wipes his lips, resisting the urge to kiss Kurogane and _make_ him taste the sweetness of the fruit.

“There are some paths that lead through the jungle without actually entering it,” Syaoran says, motioning to the small entrances that line the trees. “The villagers said they get around that way, so they should be safe. I wanted to explore them.”

Fai nods. “I’m on board with that.”

The group wanders into the jungle, careful to stay on the clearly defined paths, for what feels like miles before they reach a three-way split. Wordlessly, each of them takes a different path. Fai’s leads him an incline before opening out onto a huge lake in a clearing, bright blue water shimmering in the sunlight. Fai walks down the treeless hill to the sand and then to the edge of the water, pulling off his shoes to stick his toes in the waves that do not so much crash onto the shore as lightly bump into it.

The water is _cold_ , Fai realizes as soon as he touches it. He looks over his shoulder at the jungle then back at the water, lapping invitingly at his ankles. The air is _hot_ , and the water is _cold_ , and surely Syaoran and Kurogane won’t miss him if he takes a dip into the water just long enough to wash the sweat off of his body, right?

Even as he makes the excuse, Fai knows it will be longer. He’s already stripping off his shirt and jogging down the wooden dock nearby to deeper waters. He dives in as soon as he hits the end. The water is more than just cold; it’s _freezing_. It gives him chills as his entire body plunges into it at once, and he pops back up gasping. But it feels _good_. Fai feels almost human again as he floats on his back, enjoying the heat of the sun on his face and the cold of the water on his back.

Fai isn’t certain how long he stays like that, just floating mindlessly with his eyes closed, but eventually, a shadow falls over him. He opens his eyes and tilts his head back to see an upside down Kurogane standing on the end of the dock.

“…what are you doing?” Kurogane asks.

“Swimming,” Fai says plainly. “What does it look like?”

“Why?”

Fai flips over. Kurogane is close enough that he has to take a step back to keep from getting any water on him. “Why _not_? It’s hot and the water is cold. Want to feel?” Kurogane takes a bigger step back as Fai intentionally splashes at him, shaking his head as a few droplets land in his hair, and Fai’s smile broadens. “It’s nice! You should join me!”

Kurogane doesn’t bother with a response. He fixes Fai with a blank stare and walks away, but he doesn’t go far, taking a seat where the grass meets sand at the base of the hill to gaze disinterestedly at Fai. Fai watches him settle in with a resigned sigh. The fact that Kurogane didn’t leave completely is a small miracle, but it would still have been more fun to swim _with_ Kurogane rather than merely near him. From this far away, Fai can’t even splash him. That’s what disappoints him the most.

Fai dives beneath the waves again. The water is as beautiful as the land is. It’s clear and unpolluted, so when he opens his eyes he can see for what feels like miles. If he stays perfectly still, the schools of multicolored fish seem to forget he exists and brush against his fingertips until he twitches them, sending the fish scurrying off again. He had nearly forgotten how nice it was to be like this, suspended in animation with nothing against his skin but the soft fabric of his pants and the even pressure of water. His senses are dulled down here, beneath the waves that roll over his head. It’s soothing to be unable to hear, unable to feel, able only to see the light filtering through waves to sparkle off scales and the steady sway of kelp beneath him.

Fai stays underwater for as long as he can before he has to come up for air. He breaks through the surface with another quiet gasp and glances back at where Kurogane remains seated, still staring without feeling at him. It might be Fai’s imagination, but he thinks Kurogane is sitting a bit more stiffly. He _was_ underwater for a long time; maybe Kurogane thought he had drowned. Fai waves and can just barely see Kurogane roll his eyes.

Fai swims back down again, circling over near the wooden legs of the dock that stretch far below him. This part of the lake is deep but not overly so, so Fai can swim down to the bottom without needing to take another breath. He spreads his fingers out over the sand in a patch free from kelp; little spindly creatures scurry away from his touch, some pausing to climb over his fingers until he brushes them off. He catches one in his hand and lifts it to his face to get a better look at it, its tiny legs tickling his palm. It leaps off when it draws even with Fai’s eyes and floats gently back to the floor of the lake.

All of the plants and animals in this world are colorful, but few, if any, seem dangerous. It seems unfair for Fai to be the only person to enjoy them down here, but his chances of convincing Kurogane or even Syaoran to join him are slim to none.

Looking up at the wood of the dock above him, Fai is hit with a terrible—or rather, _brilliant_ —idea.

He follows the dock to the edge of the lake until it grows shallow enough for him to stand. He runs hastily over to where Kurogane is sitting. “Kuro-sama,” he says breathlessly. Part of him suggests wringing out his hair over Kurogane’s head, but he ignores the idea. He has to wait. It’s for the greater good. “I think I found the feather.”

“What?” Kurogane is on his feet in an instant. “Already?”

Fai nods. “I’m not positive, but it’s either the feather or something that looks like it. I just can’t reach it.” Fai grabs Kurogane’s hand and tugs him toward the wooden dock. “You’re taller than me. You might be able to reach it.”

Kurogane gives him a wary look, but he allows Fai to drag him down the dock to the edge of the water. “I don’t see anything,” Kurogane says. He peers into the water without getting too close.

Fai frowns and drops Kurogane’s hand, his palm resting on Kurogane’s lower back instead. “Really?” he asks. He braces himself against Kurogane and leans out over the lake, his toes curled against the rough edge of the warm wood. “Isn’t that it?” He points down into the depths, and Kurogane follows his finger and scoots a little closer, squinting past the sunlight that glints off the waves.

Fai grins.

3 –

“Where?”

2 –

“Right there.”

1 –

“I don’t—”

Fai shoves.

It takes his full body weight to push Kurogane into the lake. Even with that, Fai is barely successful. Kurogane gives a furious shout and grabs at Fai’s arm as he slips, but he’s too late. Fai is already dancing away, skin still slick enough with water that he’s able to snatch his arm back before Kurogane can get ahold of him. Fai is thrown off-balance by the force of his shove and Kurogane’s failed attempt at grabbing him, but he turns his falling into a dive just as Kurogane’s head breaks the surface of the water.

“You—!” Kurogane yells as Fai disappears beneath the waves. He grabs at Fai again, and this time he’s successful, his fingers closing around Fai’s ankle before he can escape. Fai kicks at him, but it’s like trying to kick a brick wall. He has no choice but to come up for air that Kurogane barely lets him take in. Fai is laughing when Kurogane drags him in close and shoves him back under the water. Fai’s lungs send panic to his brain as his inhale is cut off, but he’s still laughing, still letting out oxygen he barely has, still pushing and kicking against Kurogane. He isn’t worried; Kurogane would never kill him on purpose. Fai manages to free his ankle and swims safely away so he can catch his breath before disappearing entirely beneath the water. He pops back up behind Kurogane and rests his hands on Kurogane’s shoulder in an effort to push him back underwater. Kurogane is _strong_ ; Fai can’t manage to get a solid enough hold on him to sink him down more than an inch or two, not even when he lifts himself up completely and locks his elbows. Kurogane just shoves at Fai and sends _him_ underwater once more.

“You’re going to drown me,” Fai gasps as he resurfaces. Kurogane glares him as Fai blinks past the lake water dripping from the hair in his eyes. Then he dunks Fai again. “Kuro-sama, _please_.”

“I don’t think you _can_ drown,” Kurogane growls. “You must have limitless oxygen with the way you carry on.” Fai smiles and splashes him again, still laughing at the irritated, drenched dog-like way Kurogane scowls at him. “Stop _doing_ that.”

Fai is braced to splash him again when Kurogane turns away and swims back to the dock. Kurogane hoists himself up onto it, and Fai fears for a moment that he has accidentally angered Kurogane into leaving. He’s about to apologize when Kurogane pulls his shirt over his head, and _oh_. Fai says nothing, instead simply watching as Kurogane pauses, shirt halfway down his arms, to shake out his hair. Fai is fully aware he is staring; he would be content to tread water for hours if it meant he could continue to look at the sharp lines of solid muscle across Kurogane’s torso and watch the way the sun paints Kurogane’s skin in high contrast to accentuate his arms.

Kurogane is also aware Fai is staring. Fai gets a face full of water kicked at him before Kurogane slides back in. “You’re determined to drown me,” Kurogane complains at Fai’s suggestively raised brow. “You’re going to succeed if I keep getting caught up in my shirt.”

Fai’s brow remains raised. “You could just get out of the water,” he points out.

“It’s hot.” It’s an excuse. They both know it, but Kurogane needs an excuse to keep him here, so Fai lets it stand. He swims over to drape his arms over the broad shoulders he was just gazing at, marveling at the fact that he doesn’t have to merely _watch_. He’s allowed to _touch_. Kurogane’s hands fit to his hips, the motion of his legs sufficient to keep him afloat. With Kurogane keeping him up, Fai doesn’t need to try to stay above water, so he folds his legs around Kurogane’s waist and kisses him instead. Kurogane’s frown leaves him with the first touch of Fai’s lips on his. Fai tangles his fingers in Kurogane’s wet hair as he leans in against him. Fai shivers as the wind brushes against the cold water on his skin, Kurogane’s arms going tighter around him to warm him with the heat of the sun. They’re alone out here, only fish beneath them and birds above them, the only sounds in Fai’s ears the chirps of birds and the soft crashing of waves on the shore. They’re—

“Kurogane-san! Fai-san!”

—not completely alone.

Kurogane shoves Fai away at the sound of Syaoran’s worried voice, ignoring the annoyed splash he receives in response. Fai glances up to see Syaoran running down toward the water with Mokona hanging off his shoulder. “Are you two okay?” Syaoran asks, crouching on the edge of the dock to look at them. “I heard yelling.”

“We’re fine,” Fai reassures him with a smile. “Kuro-tan just decided to join me in a swim.”

“I wouldn’t call that ‘deciding,’” Kurogane mutters, but he nods when Syaoran glances at him for confirmation.

“I’m glad. I was worried something had happened. I guess you didn’t find anything either then.” Syaoran settles in on the edge of the dock, tugging off his shoes and rolling up his pants to dip his feet in the lake. He flinches when his skin first hits the water. “Oh, it’s cold.”

Fai gets a brilliant idea for the second time that day.

He ducks underwater and swims closer quickly to where he can see Syaoran’s toes just beneath the surface. He hears a distant, muffled “ _don’t_ ” from Kurogane. He feels the splash of Kurogane trying to stop him.

Fai grabs Syaoran’s ankle. He pulls.

Syaoran crashes gracelessly into the water with a yelp, nearly landing on top of Fai. He gasps as he resurfaces. The look he gives Fai is one of wide-eyed confusion and surprise, bordering on dismay, so different from the scowl and glare Kurogane gave him moments before for the same transgression that Fai can just laugh. Syaoran looks so wounded that Fai nearly feels guilty. Fai hears a faint sigh from a few feet behind him that sounds like Kurogane. Then he hears nothing but the rush of water filling his ears, because Kurogane has taken Syaoran’s revenge _for_ him and dunked Fai again. Fai chokes on both his laughter and the water. He’s still laughing as he pops back up, much to Kurogane’s annoyance and Syaoran’s confusion.

“Stop laughing,” Kurogane complains. He reaches out to push Fai underwater again, but Fai swims a few paces away with a taunting grin.

“Mokona wants to swim too!” Mokona announces as she launches herself into the water next to Kurogane’s head, landing strategically so as to splash him as much as possible with her feet.

Kurogane scoops Mokona out of the lake and holds her by her ears as she beams at him. “Can you even swim?” he asks.

“Mokona floats!” she tells him, and Kurogane nods as if in consideration before grabbing Mokona’s body and chucking her as far away from him as possible. Syaoran’s face goes panicked as he takes off after Mokona.

Fai whistles as he watches Mokona fly off into the distance. “That was mean, Kuro-rin,” he scolds.

“It said it would float,” Kurogane returns shamelessly.

“It was still mean,” Fai repeats. “Mean people get splashed.” He does just that with another laugh before swimming after Syaoran and Mokona, Kurogane hot on his heels.

“Play” is not a word any of them are used to—any of the humans, at least. _Mokona_ is used to playing; Mokona is _always_ playing. Mokona takes very little seriously and finds joy in the smallest of pleasures. For the rest of them, though, play is all but a foreign concept. Kurogane still remembers the joy of climbing trees and having pretend fights with his father, of riding horses and dancing with his mother, but he hasn’t done these things in so many years that it might as well have been an entire lifetime ago. Syaoran was encouraged to play when he was young, but he was always far too serious a child for games. He still _is_ a child; he should still find time to play, but he never does. Fai was never given the chance to be a child at _all_. His entire life has consisted of him trying to stay alive. Even in the first few years of his life, before he was thrown into Valeria’s hell, he was never really allowed to be a child. The boy Ashura saved was far too broken to ever play.

But today they play, even if none of them would define it as such. No other word describes Mokona swallowing several gallons of water that she launches full force at Kurogane’s head. No other word describes Syaoran splashing Fai hesitantly, as if fearing retaliation of some sort, and Fai splashing him back with no hesitation whatsoever. Kurogane yells empty threats at Mokona as she prepares to drench him again, and Syaoran’s face loses some of its ever-present seriousness as he starts to have _fun_. Warmth spreads through Fai’s chest as he watches Kurogane and Mokona fight and hears Syaoran’s laughter as he gets to be a kid again.

Today they are young, lifetimes of trauma stripped away with their shirts. The sun is hot on Fai’s skin as he floats on his back in the cool water. Syaoran is someplace beneath him, exploring the beauty of the lake and following schools of fish. Kurogane holds Fai’s hand. He swears there was nothing romantic in the gesture and insists he was just trying to keep Fai from drifting away from them. Fai isn’t concerned with the reason for it. His grip is loose on Kurogane’s fingers, because the more loosely he holds, the more tightly Kurogane does. Kurogane’s hand is large and familiar in his, palm softened by the water but the lines of his palm the same shape they’ve always been.

Today, if only for today, they are happy.


	2. day's end

“Oi,” Kurogane calls, rapping on the door to the room he shares with Fai. “Hurry up. I’m going to leave without you.”

“The festival lasts all _night_ , Kuro-tan,” Fai returns from inside. “The sun hasn’t even set yet. We’re hardly rushed for time.” He finishes tying a band around the braid in his hair and straightens his new clothes, ones they found on their beds when they returned earlier, before heading back into the hall.

Fai spins as he steps through the doorway; the motion makes his loose-fitted pants, white with patterns of blue as bright as his eyes, float out around him. He spreads his arms in a grand gesture with a pleased grin; his sleeves are light blue and sheer, draping from his arms where it’s fastened around his wrist with a small gold band. “What do you think?” he asks. “I love it. The clothes of Aria are so colorful—except for yours, I guess,” he adds, giving Kurogane a onceover. He wonders if Kurogane always asks for black clothes in the countries they go to, or if the people they stay with know just from looking at him.

Kurogane seems utterly unimpressed, but his gaze lingers on Fai’s bared shoulders before darting up to his eyes. “It took you that long to get dressed?” he comments instead. His own clothes are tighter than Fai’s, the solid pants closer fitted to his legs and the sleeveless shirt with the deep V-neck less flowy. Kurogane almost seems to glow somehow in the lamplight, the crimson belt tied over his hips stark like a candle in the night. Fai steps closer to see that Kurogane _isn’t_ glowing; the gold flecks set into the fabric are, mixing into the solid black and the small threaded accents of red.

“No,” Fai says once he has determined that he hasn’t completely lost his mind, “it took me that long to braid my hair.” He reaches up to make sure none of the flowers he tied into its blond have fallen out, their petals soft beneath his fingertips. “Saiki-dono said there would be dancing, and I didn’t want it to get in my way.”

Kurogane shakes his head, hand going to the small of Fai’s back to turn him and push him forward. “You should just cut it,” he says as they walk through the corridor.

“Never.” Fai doesn’t tell Kurogane the truth—that cutting his hair was the first thing he did after being saved from Valeria, and that growing his hair longer now is a way of accepting his past. He’ll cut it one day; he doesn’t need to right now. “If I cut my hair, where would you put your hands when I’m—” Kurogane grabs at his head, and Fai dances out of the way with a laugh, having to skip forward several spaces to stay out of Kurogane’s reach. “No! You’ll mess up the braid!”

“ _Good_ ,” Kurogane growls, snatching at Fai again. Fai jumps back and takes off down the hall, Kurogane quick on his heels. Even after all this time, Kurogane is simply too easy to provoke for Fai _not_ to bully him a little.

They almost run over Syaoran as they crash into the main hall and out the front door of the palace. Fai grabs Syaoran’s shoulders and crouches behind the bewildered boy. “Syaoran-kun!” he cries, using him as a human shield. “Save me!”

“Kurogane has to be nice to Fai!” Mokona yells. She launches itself at Kurogane’s face and kicks at him, smacking him in the eye.

Kurogane grabs her by her ears as Mokona attempts to keep swinging her feet at him. “You little—!”

“You lot are awfully energetic already,” Touya comments. “Are you always like this?” Fai glances up to see him and Yukito approaching, both with varying degrees of amusement on their faces. Fai straightens up, and Kurogane tosses Mokona haphazardly back to Syaoran.

“Usually,” Fai agrees cheerily. He keeps a close watch on Kurogane out of the corner of his eye in case he needs to run again.

“I see you found the clothes,” Yukito says. “I’m glad they fit. I thought your others may be too hot…” He trails off as he sees Mokona; she wears a small orange flower tucked behind its ear, fortunately not destroyed in the squabble with Kurogane. He glances sideways at Touya. Touya’s face turns faintly pink, and Yukito grins.

“We should get going,” Touya mutters as Yukito beams at him. He takes off without seeing if the others are following him. Yukito laughs and runs up ahead to catch up with him, elbowing him lightly in the ribs while the rest of them trail behind.

The sun has begun to set. It casts reds and purples through the clouds that glint off of the gold set into the fabric of Kurogane’s clothing. It dances off of Yukito’s hair as well; the gray is dyed into a rich tapestry of bright colors. Touya slings an arm over Yukito’s shoulder, ignoring his laugh of protest and the half-hearted shove he gives at the action. They aren’t far from the center of town, where Fai sees many people gathered. It looks as if the entire village has shown up for the festival—and they might have. Touya’s arm remains light and his voice easy, but Fai doesn’t miss the way the arm slung over Yukito’s shoulder seems to denote possessiveness even in its laxity. He can hear Yukito tease Touya about giving Mokona a flower so that she wouldn’t feel left out; Touya gives a small huff and pulls Yukito closer to him so he can aggressively ruffle his hair.

The motion is so similar to what Kurogane was just trying to do to him that Fai can’t help but smile. By his side, Kurogane is complaining about how many people they’ll have to deal with, loud _drunk_ people at that. Fai ignores him. He takes Kurogane’s hand in his instead.

Kurogane glances down at him, but he doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t pull away. His silent acceptance is more meaningful than any words could ever be. Long ago, when Kurogane was injured in their race in Piffle, Fai tried to hold his hand and felt as if he was gripping the sharp end of a sword. This is still like gripping a sword, Kurogane’s palm battle-worn and calloused in his grasp and his hold on Fai’s fingers hard, but it’s more like holding the pommel of a blade Fai has known the solid shape of for years. Kurogane’s grasp is tight on his fingers, and Fai gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. His reluctance is borne of apprehension, Fai knows, not some sense of embarrassment. They’ve been in countries in the past where they’ve received threats of violence simply for being together. Kurogane nullified those threats with a single furious glare, but he still stayed away from Fai for the remainder of their time there—not out of shame but out of concern that Fai would be injured for something so innocent as daring to be together with him.

Fai knows this isn’t a country where Kurogane needs to worry. Touya and Yukito are openly together in this world, openly in _love_ , something Fai is fairly certain they hadn’t even admitted to each other in several of the others. If there were any chance of danger, they wouldn’t be together.

Touya would never allow harm to come to Yukito.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fai catches a glimpse of Syaoran smiling as he looks at him and Kurogane. In some of the worlds where Kurogane and Fai had violence threatened against them, Kurogane didn’t _have_ to silence the threats; Syaoran did it for him with a single swift kick.

Fai hears the music well before they reach the grounds of the festival. Low beating drums, soaring strings, high whistling flutes—they start soft and grow louder. The grounds themselves are as pretty as the rest of the world is, flowers everywhere in the broad open space with people all around wearing colors just as bright as the blossoms. A huge fire sits in the center that is steadily being built upon to become even larger; everything else surrounds it. Near it, Fai sees Saiki, standing with an amiable smile as he watches his people enjoy themselves. He wears a decorative sword on his waist, the pommel of which he rests his elbow on. The sun has all but disappeared, but the light of the fire is bright enough that it might as well be daytime but for the edges of the area, where the clearing meets the trees and light meets darkness.

“I’m going to see what I can find out,” Syaoran says, touching Fai’s arm as he heads toward an especially thick throng of people with Mokona still in his arms. He’s as goal-oriented as ever, even at what should be a party.

Touya and Yukito take off in another direction, Touya dragging him toward where a group of vendors have set up stands with food. Yukito protests with a laugh that he’s not a hungry, a comment Touya clearly does not believe. Fai turns to ask Kurogane what he’s going to do, but Kurogane has already shaken his hand free from Fai’s and is ambling off in the direction of the makeshift arena Fai spies on the edge of the clearing. Fai hears wooden swords clashing against each other and a second later a cheer goes up from the surrounding crowd.

Fai sighs as he watches Kurogane make a beeline toward the arena, but the breath is fond. Kurogane wouldn’t be Kurogane if he didn’t go to where the fighting was. Fai, for his part, makes his way to the edge of the clearing where he can sit in peace. He’s far enough away from the group of the musicians and dancers that he can catch snippets of conversation on the wind, but he’s close enough to the center to keep an eye on Syaoran. He doesn’t bother trying to keep an eye on Kurogane; Kurogane will return once he’s won too many fights and grown bored.

Fai settles into the soft grass, his arms hung loosely over his knees. He watches Syaoran wander about and watches people jump whenever Mokona speaks. He listens to the lilting music and the clash of wooden swords to one far side. None of the fights have ended in a single blow yet by the sound of it, so Fai knows Kurogane must not be fighting right now.

Fai is content to sit and observe. Despite Kurogane’s frequent accusations that Fai is a clueless fool, Fai is watchful and attentive when he needs to be. He sees little reason to throw himself into the fray just yet, so he merely watches and listens. One couple before him is arguing; another is kissing and laughing. A lover scorned stands near his previous partner, and a child stands a few yards behind her crush and stares. All of them have lives just as rich as his own, pasts and presents and futures, and Fai will never know any of them beyond these quick glimpses, just as they will never know him.

It’s strange for him to think that once, he didn’t know Syaoran or Kurogane either. Their names were as meaningless to him as any other, and their faces and personalities were no more important to him than anyone else. He had never imagined he would be with them for so long—that he would _love_ them for so long, or at all, even. After a lifetime of thinking it was only a matter of time before he died, by his own hand or another’s, he hadn’t let himself dream of a future. He had never dared to think there would come a time in his life where he would be happy. He had never expected that one day, he could predict the ninja from Suwa’s every move and recognize the boy with the feathers by his laugh alone.

“Is this seat taken?”

Fai jumps at the voice and glances up to see Kurogane smiling down at him—except it isn’t Kurogane but rather a stranger, just a stranger who happens to look strikingly similar to him. The stranger has the same crimson eyes, the same short-cropped and spiked black hair, the same defined shoulders and solid biceps where his sleeveless shirt ends, but he isn’t Kurogane. The lines of his bones are different beneath his skin, and his brows don’t form deep ridges between them. His cheeks are more hollowed, and most importantly, he’s _smiling_ , broadly and openly in a manner that is decidedly _unlike_ Kurogane.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the man says. He _sounds_ similar to Kurogane too, the same low, rumbling intonation. Fai wonders briefly is this man could be this country’s version of him, even if the stranger does lack the ever-present growl of Kurogane’s voice. “I thought I saw an angel and wanted to make sure you were feeling okay after falling from heaven.”

Fai’s laugh comes out closer to a snort in his surprise. _Really_? _Definitely_ not some version of Kurogane. It’s jarring to hear those words coming from someone who looks even remotely similar to Kurogane. Fai thinks he would die then and there if Kurogane ever said something so cheesy to _anyone_ , let alone to _him_. He pats the soft earth next to him, and the stranger takes the offered seat. “I did fall from the sky,” Fai muses.

The man who is not Kurogane stares at him in confusion for a few seconds before he laughs, entirely unreserved. His voice is similar enough to Kurogane’s that his laugh makes a small thrill run through Fai. “It seems you survived,” the man says. “I’m glad. I don’t know about falling from the sky, but you’re not from around here, are you? I’ve never seen you before, and I don’t recognize your accent.”

Accent? Fai tilts his head. He wasn’t aware he even _had_ an accent. He wonders what it sounds like. “No, I’m not,” he agrees slowly. “You could say I’m from an entirely different world, even.”

The man looks puzzled for a moment before his smile broadens and turns almost fond. “You’re strange. I like that. I’m Takahiro. Welcome to our little village.”

“Fai.”

“I hope you’re enjoying the festival, Fai,” Takahiro says, and it’s strange for Fai to hear his name from someone so much like Kurogane and yet so very different—stranger still for it to be with a smile.

“I am,” Fai says sincerely. “Your village is beautiful. Its people are too.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Takahiro settles in more comfortably next to Fai, sitting close. “Will you be staying long?”

Fai gives a quiet hum of consideration. “I don’t know. We could leave any time. We’re only here until we find what we’re looking for.”

“And what is that?”

“A feather. A lost memory of a princess from another world.” Fai is gazing at the crowd in front of him when he says it, so when something dark flits over Takahiro’s face, he thinks it may be an illusion from the flames. He turns his head toward Takahiro too late to tell whether or not he was imagining the shadow.

“I won’t pretend to understand,” Takahiro says, and his voice is so light and unconcerned that Fai thinks he must have been wrong. “What does this feather of yours look like? I can try to help you find it.”

It’s white, with a red heart-like design. It’s hard to miss.” Fai looks directly at Takahiro while speaking, but there’s no recognition on Takahiro’s face. “Have you seen it?” he presses, hoping for some sort of reaction.

Takahiro shakes his head with an apologetic frown. Fai must have been imagining it after all. “I wish I had,” Takahiro says. “I’ll keep an eye out for it, though.”

Fai relaxes. It seems he was wrong; he has no reason to mistrust Takahiro. “Thank you.” He looks back out to the crowd, searching for Syaoran and finding him again among the throng of people. It isn’t that he doesn’t think Syaoran will be okay, but the boy can get himself into trouble with his questions at times, and he has a tendency to run off without thinking things through when it comes to Sakura and her feathers. Syaoran is short enough that he’s barely visible, but Fai spots the soft brown of his hair with practiced ease. Syaoran is still asking people about the feather; Fai watches him tug on a woman’s dress and frown when she shakes her head. He’s growing tired, Fai notes. His determination isn’t waning, but there’s a heaviness to his shoulders that was not present before. Fai considers going to tell Syaoran to take a break when Takahiro, the stranger who is like Kurogane yet no longer a stranger, speaks up.

“You keep looking at that boy,” Takahiro notes. “Is he your son?”

Fai gives a startled laugh. “No.” However parental his feelings toward Syaoran may be, Fai is taken aback—and a bit touched—that anyone would think they were actually related. “We aren’t related by blood.”

“You love him he is, though,” Takahiro says, easily reading between Fai’s words.

“Yes.” Fai waves at Syaoran with a smile as the boy looks over his shoulder. Syaoran, realizing Fai is watching him, waves back with a new burst of determination. “I do.”

“I can tell.” Takahiro’s voice is soft and genuine, barely audible over the strings and drums beneath it. “He’s lucky to have you. Anyone would be.”

Fai glances sideways at him. Takahiro is lucky Kurogane didn’t hear him say that. “Awfully bold to say to someone you just met,” Fai teases with a wry smile. “We’re more or less still strangers.”

“We aren’t strangers!” Takahiro protests. “We know each other’s names.”

“Is a name sufficient to know a person?”

“I’m not sure,” Takahiro admits at last. His smile has faded when Fai glances back at the softened sound of his voice. For a moment, Takahiro looks almost sad. “You remind me of someone I used to know, though.”

“Takahiro…” The drums pound in Fai’s ears, the strings echoing in his chest, and his brows knit together. He’s about to ask what he means when Takahiro’s face brightens once again.

Takahiro slings an arm over Fai’s shoulder with a laugh as if they are old friends reuniting after years apart. The action holds no trace of his former sadness. Fai, once again, is left wondering if he imagined it. “Don’t look at me like that! It’s a good thing! I—”

“Taken,” Kurogane interrupts.

Fai and Takahiro look up at the same time. Fai isn’t sure if Kurogane means the spot where Takahiro is sitting or if he means _Fai_. Kurogane glares down at them, his frown irritated, but his glare is far from fierce, far from threatened, as if Takahiro is so undeserving of Kurogane’s anger that it annoys him to be forced to acknowledge his presence at all.

Takahiro glances at Fai—trying to see if Kurogane is serious, no doubt. Fai doesn’t remove Takahiro’s arm, but he does smile sweetly. “Welcome back, Kuro-tan.”

Takahiro looks at Fai for a few more seconds before sighing and rising to his feet. He’s nearly as tall as Kurogane, able to stare at him with their faces only inches apart. Takahiro’s eyes are darting, studying; Kurogane’s are even, unflinching. Looking up at them, Fai is once again struck by how similar they are to one another. Kurogane still outpaces Takahiro, though, in everything from the broad width of his shoulders to the fire of his crimson eyes to the inch or two of height he bears over Takahiro.

Takahiro doesn’t return Kurogane’s glare. His face betrays nothing but curiosity and amusement. “It was nice meeting you, Fai,” Takahiro says without looking down. Kurogane’s frown depends at Fai’s name, teeth all but bared. Takahiro’s smile grows as if he has figured something out. He takes a step back, breaking the tension between him and Kurogane, and glances down at Fai. “I’ll keep an eye out for your feather. I’d like to have an excuse to see you again soon.”

Takahiro leaves them in peace. Kurogane remains standing, still visibly bristling and hoping for a fight, until Fai tugs at the end of his shirt. He blinks down as if he had forgotten Fai was waiting for him. He sits with an irritated sigh, extending one of the two drinks he’s holding out to Fai. “Why did you tell him your _name_?” Kurogane grumbles as he settles in.

“He gave me his. It was only fair,” Fai points out as he accepts the drink. Kurogane takes a sip of his, and Fai gives the cup an experimental sniff. He tastes it and finds it pleasantly sweet. “Why? Don’t you trust me?”

“You? Always.” Kurogane takes a large gulp of his drink in undisguised annoyance. “Him, not so much.”

Fai smiles, although he couldn’t say precisely why. “You’re too suspicious, Kuro-sama,” Fai teases, bumping his shoulder against Kurogane’s.

“ _You’re_ too friendly,” Kurogane returns evenly.

“We balance each other out then.” Fai takes another sip of his drink. He isn’t certain how strong the alcohol in it is, but he suspects that anything this sweet must be covering up high levels. He leans into Kurogane’s shoulder, still keeping an eye on Syaoran. “I thought you were going to fight?”

Kurogane scoffs. “None of them are even worth testing my strength against.”

Fai glances at the fighting pit just as one of the younger men trips over his own feet, bringing the battle to an immediate and anticlimactic halt. “Did you learn about the feather then?” he asks.

“I learned it’s not with the booze,” Kurogane replies evenly. “I also learned drunk people are useless. No one here knows anything.”

“So you decided to join the useless drunk people?” Fai asks, lifting a brow.

“ _I’m_ never useless,” Kurogane protests. “And I brought _you_ some booze too. It’s even that sweet garbage you like.”

“How very considerate of you.” Fai takes a gulp of his admittedly deliciously sweet drink and beams at Kurogane. Kurogane huffs, but he doesn’t push Fai away as Fai leans into him. He allows Fai to stay braced against him as they both watch Syaoran. Fai watches the other people, too. He may lack Kurogane’ keen eye for threats, but Fai is good at reading people, likely better than the ever-wary Kurogane or overly trusting Syaoran is. “Syaoran-kun is getting frustrated,” Fai observes, taking another drink.

Kurogane makes a noise of agreement. “He’s been at it awhile.” Perhaps his drink is as strong as Fai’s, or perhaps it’s just the happy mood of the festival, but Kurogane’s arm goes around Fai and tugs him into his lap. Fai blinks in surprise and tilts his head back to look up at him. Kurogane’s face doesn’t change; he continues gazing evenly out at the crowd of people as if he _didn’t_ just pull Fai on top of him. Fai finds himself smiling, content and pleased, as he lowers his head.

Fai glances out at the crowd as he settles more comfortably into Kurogane’s lap and leans against his chest. His eyes land on Touya and Yukito, out in the center of the crowd of dancers. Kurogane’s affection, even with Fai literally sprawled into his lap, is infinitely more reserved than theirs. Touya and Yukito are drunk, judging by their mistimed steps and sloppy movements, but they look like they’re having fun. Fai can’t hear their laughter from where he sits, but he can see it in the shaking of Touya’s shoulders and the closing of Yukito’s eyes as he covers his mouth with a hand that Touya quickly steals into his own.

Fai turns his head. He’s about to comment on how happy he is for Touya and Yukito when Kurogane’s fingers touch his cheek and Kurogane’s lips touch his.

Kurogane kisses him.

Fai forgets to breathe. He forgets to close his eyes, and he forgets to kiss back, because Kurogane does _not_ kiss him in public. Fai kisses _Kurogane_ , Fai holds _his_ hand, but Kurogane does _not_ make the first move. It has never felt like shame, only a desire to keep Fai all to himself. Yet here he is, Fai in his lap and his lips on Fai’s mouth. Kurogane tastes like fire, like the bitter alcohol he was drinking, but underneath it he still tastes like him. His arms are around Fai to hold him close, their grip solid on his back.

“Are you alright?” Fai whispers shakily when Kurogane pulls away. He rests his forehead against Kurogane’s shoulder as he tries to steady his heartbeat.

“He’s still staring at you,” Kurogane mutters under his breath, his arms going tighter around Fai. He sounds close enough to petulant, close enough to _needy_ , that Fai almost laughs.

Kurogane is jealous. How cute.

Fai lifts his head and turns back, still held in Kurogane’s embrace, to see the man from before—Takahiro—watching him with a strange expression that Fai can’t name. Fai doesn’t allow his gaze to linger, skipping it over Takahiro’s eyes to the fire in the center of the area and to Saiki, still standing and speaking with his people, but the heat of Takahiro’s stare pricks goosebumps on his skin. Fai doesn’t know why; Takahiro has done _nothing_ to him. He made polite conversation and a valiant, if poorly executed, attempt at flirting, but his lingering gaze still makes Fai uneasy.

Kurogane may have been right. Fai might be _too_ friendly sometimes.

“Do you want to dance?” Fai asks suddenly, pushing himself free from Kurogane’s arms and standing with a smile.

“Absolutely not.” Kurogane’s response is immediate. Fai is barely able to get the last word out before Kurogane cuts him short with a blatant refusal. Fai’s smile softens and turns genuine; he was expecting nothing less from Kurogane. That’s why, when Kurogane opens his mouth again, Fai is left speechless. “But you do, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Fai admits once he has recovered from his shock. “I like dancing. I haven’t been able to do it for… a long time. Not since everything with Ashura-ou began.” Fai shakes his head. “I like this music, too. Touya-kun and Yukito-kun look like they’re having fun out there. I’d… I’d like to join them, even if you won’t go with me.”

Kurogane glances at Touya and Yukito. The pair is still together, somehow even closer than they were before. One of Touya’s hands holds Yukito’s; the other rests on his waist to drawn him in close, Yukito’s free hand on Touya’s shoulder. They’re still doing something that approximates dancing, still swaying back and forth in time with the music, but only just. Fai can’t see their faces clearly, but he doesn’t need to see details to read the love. The breathless adoration and simple affection behind Yukito’s eyes speak volumes for Fai.

Kurogane looks back at Fai in quiet consideration for several drawn out seconds. “Would it make you happy?” Kurogane asks at last.

“Yes,” Fai says, voice soft and sincere. “It would.”

Kurogane gazes at him with that unreadable expression for another long moment giving a defeated sigh. He downs the last of his drink in one swift gulp and stands without meeting Fai’s eyes. “Fine.”

Fai’s heart doesn’t leap; it _soars_. “Really?” he blurts. Kurogane will be annoyed by his disbelief, but he can’t help but ask. He wonders if this isn’t some sort of strange joke, but Kurogane is _nodding_. He’s _really_ going to allow Fai to dance with him. “You’re serious.”

“Don’t make it a bigger deal than it is,” Kurogane growls. Fai sees embarrassment in the lines between his brows as he takes Kurogane’s hand with a rush of excitement. “And don’t expect me to be any good at it. Tomoyo tried to teach me once. It didn’t go well.”

“She’s also half your size,” Fai points out. He’s out of breath just from dragging Kurogane toward the group of musicians. He is already smiling; he’s all but forgotten about the strange, Kurogane-like man who was staring at him, because nothing will ever compare to the Kurogane who is holding his hand and doing something he loathes just for the sake of Fai’s happiness. “Maybe you’ll do better with a partner you don’t have to worry about crushing.”

Kurogane does not do better with Fai.

He wasn’t lying; he really is _terrible_ at this. His hand is too tight on Fai’s, his shoulders too stiff, his head held too rigid as if dancing is physically painful to him. Kurogane may look damn good while he’s fighting, but anyone watching him now would think he was either too drunk to move properly or pissed at Fai. His attempts at dancing are as if he’s fighting too, and his movements are significantly _less_ graceful without a sword in his hand or an opponent to swing it against. Fai is his _partner_ , not his _enemy_ , but Fai keeps having to duck out of the way of an accidental blow. It doesn’t bother Fai too much. He can’t help but be amused by the color to Kurogane’s cheeks and his plainly unhappy frown. Kurogane absolutely _hates_ this. Some sadistic part of Fai wishes this country had the technology that would allow him to send a video to Tomoyo, because she would _never_ let Kurogane forget this and will probably not believe Fai when he tells her about it.

The rest of Fai, though, still can’t believe this is even happening. As amused as he is by Kurogane’s embarrassment, most of him just feels a mixture of contentedness and giddiness, butterflies in his stomach and bubbles in his chest that keep escaping as laughter. He can’t stop smiling, even when Kurogane steps hard on his foot for the third time.

“Sorry,” Kurogane mutters, dropping Fai’s hand and taking a reluctant step back as his blush deepens.

Fai grabs his hand. He’s not letting Kurogane out of this that easily, even if his foot _is_ going to be bruised tomorrow. “You really _are_ awful at this,” he laughs.

Kurogane scowls, making a half-hearted effort to pull his hand away. “I _told_ you. I’m going to sit back down.”

“Noooo,” Fai protests, still smiling as he grips Kurogane’s fingers tighter. “Don’t do _that_. Come here. Let me show you.” Kurogane huffs a wordless complaint, but he allows Fai to step closer and set a hand on his waist. Kurogane’s hand, the one not holding Fai’s, goes to Fai’s hip as if on instinct. “You’re moving too stiffly,” Fai murmurs as he draws Kurogane in still closer, lips close enough to Kurogane’s ear for him to speak softly even with the beat of the drums and the swell of the stringed instruments. “This isn’t a fight.” Kurogane is _trying_ , Fai knows, even if he _is_ still moving as if he expects Fai to hit him. The fact that Kurogane would try at all, would allow Fai to dance with him in the first place—even if this can scarcely be called dancing—means the world to Fai.

Even though Fai is closer to him than ever, Kurogane doesn’t step on his foot again. He gives a long exhale, and the hand on Fai’s hip goes to the small of his back to tug him forward, all but pressing him entirely to Kurogane. Fai is thankful Kurogane can’t read his mind, because all he’s thinking is how _cute_ Kurogane is like this, frustrated and embarrassed but suffering through it for Fai’s sake. He’s cute, even if that’s a word no one else would ever use to describe the man who was thrown from his home for being too dangerous and bloodthirsty. Fai _likes_ it that way. He’s the only one who gets to see Kurogane like this. Even surrounded by people, Fai is the only one who sees Kurogane for who he truly is.

“Slow learner,” Fai teases, pulling away just enough to look up at Kurogane.

“Bad teacher,” Kurogane returns smoothly, but he’s wearing a small smile that looks unconscious. Fai is warm, heat in his chest and his face from more than the alcohol. He changes his mind about wanting to send a video of Kurogane dancing to Tomoyo; he wants to keep this moment to himself forever. Kurogane looks less frustrated now, less embarrassed as the color fades from his cheeks, almost as if he’s forgotten what he was supposed to be embarrassed _about_. He’s smiling at Fai’s happiness, and Fai is laughing, breathless and wild. Fai wouldn’t fight it even if he could, not with Kurogane’s arm around him and their fingers entwined, not with Kurogane gazing at him like he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life, his expression subtle but laced with meaning that only Fai can see. Fai wants to kiss Kurogane, out here in front of everyone. He wants to pull Kurogane into an embrace and hold him still while the music plays a backdrop. He wants to—

The blast takes Fai’s hearing.

All it leaves is a sound like thunder. A sound like lightning. A sound like screaming—from him, from the sickening thud beside him, from the very bones of his ears, so violent it strips him of thought and feeling. Pain spikes through his head, shoots down his spine, and leaves him paralyzed. He connected with something hard when it (it, what is _it_?) exploded.

A sound like thunder. A sound like lightning. A sight like Gehenna. Like hell.

Except Fai’s hell was a cold one, bitter and biting, and this hell is scorching, burning, heat so intense it seems to peel away his skin. All around him only gray smoke, only white noise, and crimson, on his hands, on his clothes, in the grass beneath his back. They suffocate him, the gray and the crimson, turn his insides black as they strangle him with his own lungs. He can’t breathe. He can’t see. He can’t _think_.

A sound like thunder, a sound like lightning, a taste and smell like copper and iron and all the heavy metals, so heavy they drag down his limbs and drown him, but Fai doesn’t have _time_ to drown; he’s already on his feet and sprinting on legs he can’t feel toward the center of the blast, into that gray and crimson, stumbling half-blind and half-concussed and all-deaf to where Syaoran was.

Syaoran was _there_.

He was by the fire, a fire that is now an inferno that rains burning rubble down around them. Fai stumbles as one catches him in the shoulder, but he doesn’t stop. He’s dimly aware of Kurogane by his side, yelling something to him that Fai still can’t hear clearly enough to understand. The cloud of smoke is all-consuming, and Fai is _glad_ for that because if he stops to try to see, to process, to think about anything but the fact that Syaoran could be hurt, could be _killed_ , he’ll be paralyzed by the fallen people at his feet—unconscious, corpses, he can’t tell. He doesn’t want to _know_ ; he glances at them only long enough to make sure none of them have Syaoran’s face. His skin crackles as electric panic surges through him, adrenaline and magic pure in his veins. He has to find Syaoran, he has to—

Fai collides with Syaoran so hard he nearly falls.

Fai narrowly manages to keep his balance with his legs still numb and the taste of his heart on his tongue. He catches Syaoran’s arm to steady him and kneels before him, hands going to Syaoran’s white face. Fai can’t _ask_ if Syaoran is okay; he can’t hear past the ringing in his ears and doubts Syaoran can either, but he _has_ to see if Syaoran is okay. Syaoran isn’t unharmed; his hair is matted with blood and one of his arms hangs limply at his side at an odd angle, but he isn’t dead or dying.

Fai finally remembers how to take a breath. He pulls Syaoran into his arms and doesn’t let go. Syaoran’s hand, the one he can lift, balls in the back of Fai’s shirt, and Fai holds him steady as if his embrace alone could make this all go away.

Fai hears little when the sense returns to him. It comes back slowly, the ringing going dimmer, dimmer, until it’s gone completely, but there is still nothing but eerie stillness and a soft crackling noise over the clambering of his own heartbeat. Syaoran is shaking in his arms; Fai fits a hand to the back of his head to press Syaoran’s face into his shoulder. He does the same with Mokona, cradling the tiny creature in one hand to shield both of the children from the destruction.

Kurogane doesn’t touch any of them. He stands by Fai’s side, Ginryû in his white-knuckled hands.

Around them, there is the stirring of other people. With it comes the first true scream, the first true gasp both of life and at death. It’s followed by others, the wounded, the dying, the dead, and Fai can’t shield Syaoran and Mokona from that. He can’t truly shield them from any of this.

Fai’s gaze drifts over the rubble, through the smoke, until it lands on Touya and Yukito. They, too, were too close to the center of the explosion to be unharmed but far enough away to not be dead. Touya looks to be unconscious, his eyes shut and his face slack. Yukito cradles his head in his lap and leans over him, pleading with him, or so Fai thinks; he’s too far from them to hear, but he can still see the stark look of terror on Yukito’s face. Yukito glances up, and his gaze fixes on something just over Fai’s shoulder, his expression growing more horrified.

Fai can read the syllables on Yukito’s lips. He can hear the humorless laugh behind him. It’s a sound he wouldn’t have recognized even an hour before. He does now.

Fai knows exactly who he is going to see when he turns around.

Takahiro Nakamura stands with a knife against Saiki’s throat.

Silhouetted against the dark by flames, Takahiro stands and Saiki kneels. Takahiro’s eyes burn, seemingly blind to the destruction around them that he himself brought about, while Saiki’s flicker like the flames, each second, each blink, landing on a different person, all of the villagers wounded while in his care. He doesn’t seem afraid, even with his head wrenched back by his hair and his throat bared to the blade.

“Nakamura,” Saiki starts, voice steady and low and piercingly loud against the roar of the inferno. A thin line of blood runs down his skin. “You—”

“Don’t.” Takahiro’s grip seizes tight in Saiki’s hair to jerk him to his feet, knife still pressed to his neck. Saiki doesn’t fight the motion, hands remaining slack at his side, but his gaze and the firmness of his lips remain calculating and clever as he glances sidelong at Takahiro. “Keep our name out of your mouth.”

Something in Saiki’s expression shifts toward regret at the plural. “What would you have me do?” His voice is quiet enough that Fai has to match the words with his lips to understand them.

Takahiro’s is loud and deep. “I would have you _apologize_.” His crimson eyes glint in the blaze around them. Rage, far colder than the fire, lies in their depths, a fury so old it has been thrown into a kiln and solidified. “For what you did to me—and to Aoi.” He shifts the knife as his gaze hardens further. “Then I would have your tongue.”

Saiki shows no reaction. “That is hardly a choice if you will kill me regardless.”

Takahiro barks a short laugh utterly devoid of amusement. “Your _choice_ is how much you’ll suffer. I’ll give you a quick death if you admit to your wrongdoing. If not—”

Fai’s spell blasts the knife from Takahiro’s hand.

Takahiro and Saiki are both slammed away from each other by the attack, its range broad and unfocused. Saiki lands hard, but Fai doesn’t have to worry about whether or not he hurt him, because his gaze is fixed on Takahiro. Kurogane is on Takahiro in an instant, driving down full force with Ginryû. Takahiro recovers just in time to pull out two long blades, tucked beneath his clothes, to block the attack. He kicks up and into Kurogane’s chest to knock him back and rises in a motion that launches him straight toward Kurogane. He drops a blade quickly and slices forward; Kurogane leaps back before he can be hurt.

Takahiro slashes at Kurogane. Fai flicks his fingers to send up a shield in front of Kurogane that stops Takahiro’s attack short. Takahiro falls back for just a moment before hurtling back up and bashing at it with the base of his blades. Kurogane’s sword punctures the shield; he stabs at Takahiro and misses. Fai calls up another barrier in the nick of time, causing Takahiro’s blades to bounce uselessly away. Kurogane turns. Takahiro spins. They both glare—both snarl.

Takahiro slams his knives down repeatedly onto Kurogane. Kurogane blocks them over and over without pause, but he’s starting to slow, his movements dragging longer and longer until they take _too_ long. One of Takahiro’s blades slices open his chest; the other catches his cheek and cuts sharply through it. Even with Fai’s support, his effort to keep up shields, shields that keep _breaking_ beneath the weight of both of their blows, Fai can see what’s happening.

Kurogane is going to lose.

The realization hits Fai with more force than their increasingly unevenly matched blows. Takahiro seems to have a quickness to him that seems almost inhuman, and even though Kurogane himself often appears far from mortal, when one of Takahiro’s knives stabs through his side, worryingly close to the spot where Ashura’s attack nearly killed him, it becomes evident that Kurogane is just as mortal as the rest of them.

Fai shoves Syaoran roughly behind him. “Go to Yukito-kun,” he orders. He spares no time to look at Syaoran; his eyes stay glued on the clashing of Kurogane’s sword and Takahiro’s knives. He lifts both hands, and swirling letters spark to life at his fingertips. “Kuro-sama and I can handle this. Help the wounded.”

Syaoran doesn’t hesitate. He casts a glance at the battle, takes one look at the devastation, and sprints away with Mokona on his shoulder. Fai hears Kurogane shout the name of his attack, the familiar battle cry ringing in his ears as he steps forward. He smells soot, tastes cinder, but all he hears is the roar of the blaze and Kurogane’s attack, and all he feels is the heat of the air and the warmth of Kurogane’s skin as he sets a hand on Kurogane’s shoulder.

Kurogane doesn’t look back at him. He doesn’t have to.

Kurogane launches himself back into the fray, following his attack with his body. Fai draws up a shield, draws up a spell, launches birds made of pure magic at Takahiro to knock him back as Kurogane collides with him. Kurogane pulls away, arm braced, and Fai knows what he’s about to do before he does it, is already spelling out magic to strengthen it before the first syllable leaves Kurogane’s lips.

Kurogane may have lost without Fai. They won’t lose together.

“Hama ryû-ô-jin!” Kurogane shouts. The words of Fai’s magic wrap around the blast as it shoots toward Takahiro. Takahiro’s inhuman strength isn’t enough to block the attack; he dives out of its path, but it still catches him with enough force to thrust him off-balance. Kurogane surges forward, Fai’s barrier before him and Fai himself behind with an arsenal of magic at the ready. He misses, sword slamming into the earth a foot away from Takahiro.

Kurogane’s attack falls short.

Saiki’s attack hits home.

Saiki swings up and at Takahiro with the sword Fai thought was merely decorative before now. Takahiro’s face goes stark white and terrified as Saiki crashes down on top of him, and in the span of two narrowly blocked blows, Fai realizes _why_.

Saiki is not a _good_ fighter; he may be the best out of all of them.

Saiki slams into Takahiro from one angle, Kurogane from the other, and Takahiro falls beneath the onslaught from all sides. Two blades or one, it doesn’t matter; he can’t fend off both swordsmen, and he’s left defenseless to the violent, all-consuming shockwave of magic Fai launches at him.

The shock in Takahiro’s eyes almost reads as betrayal as Fai’s spell hits him. He’s thrown violently back, through the inferno, through the blaze, past Syaoran and Yukito and Mokona and Touya, past _all_ of it. He lands with a sickening thud. Saiki doesn’t slow. Kurogane doesn’t stop. They attack.

Takahiro lifts a blade with a feather set into the handle—white, with a red heart-like design.

Fai’s breath catches.

Saiki’s and Kurogane’s attacks are timed mere seconds apart, but using the knife with Sakura’s feather, Takahiro is able to fend off one and then the other. He catches Kurogane in the ribs, Saiki in the thigh, and Fai’s spell is too slow to stop him. Saiki falls back, and Kurogane’s foot catches in the uneven earth to wrench him off center and sprawl him to the ground. Takahiro takes a step, and his eyes fix on Fai’s.

Kurogane stirs, hand still closed tight around his sword. Takahiro stares, inferno raging around him and billowing out his clothes. Fai watches, fingers braced to cast the necessary spell.

Saiki speaks.

“Nakamura,” he says, voice quiet and strained. Takahiro’s eyes dart to him. “ _Wait_.”

Takahiro doesn’t wait.

It’s clear he can’t win this, not with Fai’s magic and Kurogane’s strength and Saiki’s swordsmanship. Even with Sakura’s feather in his blade, he doesn’t have the power to fight all of them—and even if he did, he would still have to go through Syaoran. Takahiro casts one last agonized look at Saiki before bolting into the jungle.

Kurogane immediately makes to follow him. Saiki grabs his upper arm and shakes his head, looking troubled. He says something to Kurogane that Fai can’t hear; Kurogane scowls, but he dissolves Ginryû back into his palm and closes his fingers over the space it disappeared into, glaring at the ground with his hands balled into fists by his side.

Fai turns. He takes in the devastation. He forces himself not to look away.

Bodies are strewn about the clearing, some dead, some merely unconscious, but worse than that is those people who are _not_ dead or unconscious, the people crying, begging desperately for their loved ones to wake up, the screams of the injured hanging in the air. Fai recognizes the sight of bodies piled up, and it hits him with memories so strong and clear that he feels like he’s freezing despite the blaze all around him. His hands are shaking, and his legs are weak, and he’s forgetting how to breathe as his eyes go wider because it doesn’t look like Aria; it looks like Valeria, and he can’t stay grounded in the present because his mind is racing off toward a dark, forgotten place.

“Hey.” Kurogane’s voice is low; his hand is steadying on Fai’s shoulder. Fai didn’t hear him approach. “Still with me?” Fai nods, mouth dry. “No, you’re not. Look at me.” He turns Fai roughly to face him. His teeth are gritted, his face upset, but he’s still Kurogane, and Kurogane wasn’t _there_ , wasn’t in Valeria with him but he’s _here_. “Quit making yourself look. I can’t have you running off to your memories. I need you here.”

“I’m—” Fai closes his eyes. He feels the heat, the touch of Kurogane’s hand. He smells the smoke. When he opens his eyes, he sees the present. “I am.”

“Good.” Kurogane’s hand stays on his shoulder, even as he pushes Fai forward, toward where Saiki is standing, still near the inferno, his face turned up toward the flames. “Come on. We’re going to get some answers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to Box, as always, for having my back and catching my mistakes, and for being a walking encyclopedia of Kurogane knowledge and helping me with his attacks. I appreciate you, even if you do eat soup with a fork. many thanks to Lara, too, for always keysmashing excitedly at me when I send her snippets, and to my girlfriend, for always dancing with me (even though I'm even worse at it than Kurogane).


	3. fall of night

Saiki doesn’t speak with them immediately. There’s too much for him to do—too many villagers for him to attend to. Fai learns the total count later: nine dead and scores more wounded. They were lucky the death toll wasn’t higher.

Saiki is strong, astoundingly so, but he’s as upset by the tragedy as anyone else. It barely shows on his face, but Saiki is a ruler so like Ashura that Fai recognizes the pain. It’s clear to him in the firmness behind Saiki’s smile as he kneels before a young boy, bloody and dazed. The boy begins to cry the moment Saiki touches him, and Fai allows himself to look away.

Kurogane was right; there’s no sense in letting his mind travel back to Valeria.

Not that Fai is much use in the present. He was able to summon enough water to put out the raging inferno, but he can do little else now. Creating a physical object—let alone so _much_ of one—is far more difficult and exhausting than summoning pure magic to fight. His fingertips tingle from using too much magic, and he’s dizzy (although, he suspects, that may be in part because of the still-bleeding gash on his forehead from the explosion). Kurogane wouldn’t _let_ him do anything else anyway. The second Fai coughed and stumbled slightly, Kurogane grabbed his arm, cut the spell short, and dragged him over to a patch of unburnt grass. He shoved Fai down and said in no uncertain terms that Fai was _not_ going to be doing any more magic tonight, and then he stalked back off to where Syaoran is helping to stabilize the injured.

Now that the majority of the fires are put out, Fai doubts he would be able to do much even if Kurogane _hadn’t_ forced him to stop and sit down. He can’t learn healing magic, forever his biggest regret, and he isn’t as strong as Kurogane or Syaoran, so he can’t help to move the rubble and free people. He can only sit and watch for now, Mokona tucked up in his lap. The tiny creature still shakes slightly in his arms; Fai pets her gently, and she calms a little.

It’s dark. There are still enough small, well-controlled fires to allow Fai to keep an eye on Kurogane and Syaoran as they move throughout the clearing, but the blackness of the jungle presses in imposingly from all sides, its threat unvoiced but promised. A shiver runs down Fai’s spine. He ignores Kurogane’s demands that he stops casting spells and writes out a small one. Faint light flickers to life on his fingertips. He doesn’t bother to make it bright; he just wants enough light to make him feel less smothered by the choking darkness. In his lap, Mokona’s trembling finally stills.

Fai glances up as Kurogane finally returns with Syaoran by his side, recognizing them by their footsteps alone. Syaoran’s arm is working again, his shoulder put back into place, but he’s still hurt, blood matted in the hair on the back of his head. He’s still upset by all of the destruction, too, even if he’s doing his best not to show it. His eyes are downcast, his hands shaking at his sides from more than mere pain, and Fai knows him too well to believe that Syaoran isn’t suffering. He knows that no matter how much bloodshed Syaoran has seen, he’ll always be upset by seeing more.

“Things are winding down here,” Kurogane says. He doesn’t comment on the magic Fai is using for light, but his eyes narrow as he looks at Fai’s glowing fingertips. “We’ll go back to the palace and wait there for the chief.”

Kurogane is hurt too; his clothes are torn, his body riddled with bruises and small cuts from both the explosion and the fight. Fai feels a quick rush of fear when he sees the blood on Kurogane’s arms, but when he doesn’t see any source, he realizes the truth. The blood isn’t Kurogane’s; it’s from the villagers. It mixes with the mud and dirt on Kurogane’s skin from lifting the rubble that pinned the injured in place and causes him to look far worse off than he actually is.

Fai eventually nods and gets to his feet, swaying slightly. Kurogane’s hand goes to his shoulder to steady him and stays there, blood and dirt staining his light clothes even more than they were before. He wants to suggest to Kurogane to let him summon more water to clean his hands, but he knows Kurogane would never let him. Kurogane pushes him ahead and back toward the palace, and Fai expands the light he’s summoned to guide them.

Kurogane’s grip tightens on Fai’s shoulder. “I’m not carrying you if you pass out,” he informs him.

Fai lifts a brow and extends the light even further just because he can. It burns his fingertips a bit, but it’s worth it if only to see Kurogane frown in worry-disguised-as-anger. “What would you do if I _did_? You wouldn’t leave me here, surely. Would you force poor Syaoran-kun to carry me?”

“I would,” Syaoran cuts in, immediate and sincere. “Are you okay? I can carry you if you need me to.”

“ _No_ ,” Kurogane and Fai say quickly at the same time. Kurogane looks sideways at Fai.

Fai decreases the range of the light just in case.

Kurogane releases his shoulder as they step into the palace, and Fai drops his spell. The inside is undisturbed by the explosion; lamps flicker in every corner, casting warm light throughout the large hall and chasing away the shadows of the night. “Those annoying birds are still here,” Kurogane complains.

Fai and Syaoran look up automatically, even though the birds are too high up and hidden to be seen. Fai can hear them singing and chirping to one another, happily ignorant of what transpired outside. “They are,” Syaoran agrees quietly.

Fai feels the edges of a smile creep onto his face in spite of everything that has happened, not at the sound of the birds but at Kurogane, clumsily attempting to be kind and distract them without admitting it, and at Syaoran, still so easily awestruck by the small things in life.

“Come here,” Fai tells Syaoran, forcing him to sit on a step in front of him. “Kuro-tan too. Let me patch you up.”

Kurogane sighs, but he doesn’t complain. He takes a seat next to Syaoran and allows Fai to tend to his wounds with the bandages and antiseptic Mokona stores for them, something they learned was necessary to always have on hand long ago. Kurogane gives a short hiss as Fai dabs the antiseptic onto one of the bigger wounds on his side, but Fai doesn’t bother apologizing. It isn’t deep, but it’s long, and it slices straight through the scar left by the attack that Ashura nearly managed to kill Kurogane with. Fai’s chest aches at the sight of it. He doesn’t realize he’s hesitating until Kurogane grabs his wrist and fixes him with a wordless stare. Fai gives a long exhale and covers it with a bandage, ignoring the way the scar tissue feels both foreign and familiar beneath his fingertips.

“What about you?” Syaoran asks as Fai moves on to clean the scrape on the back of his head.

“I’m alright.” Fai wraps the final bandage around Syaoran’s head and steps back. “It looks worse than it is because of where it’s at.” He touches the gash on his forehead, just above his eyebrow, and finds that the blood is still wet. “Well. Mostly.”

“That’s not the point,” Kurogane cuts in. “You can’t be bleeding all over everything.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Fai shoots back.

“I’m not the one still bleeding,” Kurogane growls, rising and grabbing Fai. He gives Fai’s hair an irritated ruffle as he pushes him down. The few flowers left in Fai’s braid flutter to the floor.

“Ow,” Fai protests with a laugh as Kurogane’s fingers accidentally tangle in his hair. “How is abusing my scalp supposed to help me?”

“Shut up.” Kurogane grabs the antiseptic and cleans Fai’s face with none of the care Fai had shown him. Fai closes his eyes, half against the stinging sensation and half out of fear that Kurogane is going to jab him in the eye if he doesn’t. He wonders if Kurogane is doing it on purpose. He may be rough around the edges, but Fai _knows_ Kurogane is capable of being gentle.

“You’re too violent,” Fai complains loudly as Kurogane sticks a bandage on his forehead, catching strands of his hair beneath it. “You make a terrible doctor.”

“ _You’re_ just a bad patient,” Kurogane grumbles.

“I’m not even _doing_ anything. I’m sitting here while you stab at my face like you’re trying to take my eye out.”

“I’m not—”

Kurogane breaks off as the entrance of the palace flies open. Ginryû materializes in his hand as Fai lifts his own, bracing back in wary anticipation. Syaoran jumps to his feet, sword held out in front of him.

In walks Saiki.

Touya and Yukito follow him, not walking as much as limping. Touya is conscious, but he struggles beneath his own weight, face pale as he leans heavily against Yukito. Saiki has even more blood on him than Kurogane, his bright clothes dyed black and red and brown from the ash and blood and mud. Still, his back is straight and his shoulders solid, even with the lamplight catching the dark circles beneath his eyes.

Kurogane folds his sword back into his hand. He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes as Saiki approaches. “We need _answers_ ,” he growls.

“I know,” Saiki says, stopping in front of him. Looking at him, one would never suspect that Saiki quite literally has the blood of his people on his hands. He gazes evenly at Kurogane, his expression exhausted but neutral, unfazed by Kurogane’s scowl.

“People _died_.”

“I _know_ ,” Saiki repeats more forcefully, and there: the faintest admittance to pain and grief in how his brows twitch furrowed, his response too quick and too strained. He pushes past Kurogane, motioning for the others to join him. “Come. Follow me, and you’ll have your answers.”

The room they enter is small and clearly made for entertaining guests. It has large, brightly colored pillows scattered around the floor, covering an intricately designed carpet. The lamplight in it is somehow even warmer than it was in the hall, and it’s a place that feels undeniably cozy and _safe_ , its comfort and colors alike starkly different from the world just beyond its walls. Faintly, Fai can still hear the high, lilting chirps of the birds outside.

Yukito immediately eases Touya onto one of the cushions nearest to the wall and sits by him, slightly higher up. His arm doesn’t leave Touya’s shoulders, even as Touya insists quietly that he’s okay. Fai settles onto another one of the cushions, and Syaoran takes the one next to him, Mokona perched in his arms. Kurogane remains standing, hovering by the door as if that will be enough to stop another attack if one comes. “Talk,” he growls. “ _Now_.”

Saiki doesn’t sit. He stands, and he speaks.

“I… was not always the chief of Aria,” Saiki begins slowly. “Some years ago, before I passed the tests to become Aria’s chief, I worked as a bodyguard. I was hired by the rich to protect them and their goods and guide them on journeys through the jungle. The jungle has always been dangerous, and it can be overwhelming and confusing to travel through if you aren’t experienced. We would sometimes be set upon by bandits or monsters, and it was up to me to get us to our locations safely, no matter the cost. I was… very good at my job.

“My patron at that time was wealthy. He was traveling with a chest full of jewels—far more than was safe. I told him as much. He didn’t listen. He hired four others in addition to me. He thought that would be enough to protect him and his money. I told him to reconsider, that there had been an increasing number of attacks on travelers in his exact situation, but he wouldn’t listen.

“I had a bad feeling from the moment we set out. I knew the path well, and although I didn’t yet know their names, I had already fought nearly to the death with Nakamura several times on it. I feared he would attack us—and he did. Takahiro and Aoi…” Saiki’s eyes fix on Fai, distant and sad. “She looked like you, you know.”

“What happened to her?” Fai asks, even though he thinks he knows the answer.

“She died.”

The room grows silent. The only sound is their breathing: Kurogane’s measured, Syaoran’s sharp, Fai’s barely there at all. Saiki closes his eyes from Fai, a ghost made real before him, and sighs, long and low.

“It was an accident. I never meant to kill her.” Saiki doesn’t open his eyes as he speaks again. “I was trying to take them both captive. But I misjudged them and their strength. Aoi stepped in while I was trying to subdue Takahiro. She was in the way of my sword—and she died as a result.”

“Don’t make excuses,” Kurogane interrupts angrily. Saiki fixes him with a cool stare. “Regardless of the cause, you _killed_ her. It wasn’t some passive thing. She didn’t throw herself onto your blade.”

“You’re right.” Takahiro’s voice betrays nothing but exhaustion and weary admittance. “I have always taken full responsibility for her death. I’m the only person who _can_ ; Takahiro and I are the only ones who survived. He killed all the others, including the man who hired us. His rage and grief cut them all down. I was narrowly able to defeat him in the end and take him captive—the very thing I had intended to do from the start.”

“And now he’s escaped,” Syaoran says quietly. “And he wants revenge.”

“Yes.” Saiki’s acknowledgment is pained.

“What now?” Syaoran asks.

“That’s up to you,” Saiki says. “Nakamura wants me dead. I knew as soon as he escaped that he would come after me, but I never imagined he would do so at the festival. I never thought he was so bold as to come out in plain sight. If you all weren’t there, I suspect more would be dead right now, myself included. With that feather of yours, I could never hope to defeat him alone,” Saiki admits. He looks as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, and in a sense, he _does_ , the weight of his own world, of Aria and the lives of all of its people, weighing him down. “I won’t leave; I _can’t_ leave. I won’t abandon my people to chase after him. I will stay here, and I will wait. What will you all do?”

“We’ll follow him,” Kurogane growls on the same breath that Fai says, “We’ll wait.”

The look they exchange is heavier than the silence their words leave in their wake.

Saiki glances between them. “It’s clear that you have things to discuss,” he says. “I don’t wish to sway your decision. Come to me once you’ve made one.”

“Why would we _wait_?” Kurogane asks the moment Saiki leaves the room.

“We know next to nothing about him,” Fai says, rising to his feet. “Saiki-dono can only tell us so much. We just know Takahiro is dangerous.”

“Is that not enough?”

“What?” Fai blinks, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice. Kurogane stares blankly at him. “Why _would_ it be? The only things we really know are that he killed people at the festival with a homemade _bomb_ , that he was dangerous enough to kill highly trained mercenaries even _before_ the influence of Sakura-chan’s feather, that he has _no_ qualms about murdering innocent people, and that he’s skilled enough with knives to hurt _you_.”

“I had been drinking,” Kurogane protests, “and I was still disoriented from the explosion. That asshole would never have laid a finger on me otherwise. We need to find him and put a stop to him before anyone else gets killed.”

“I don’t want anyone else to die either, but if we follow him, then _we’re_ going to be the ones who get killed,” Fai insists. “If he left a bomb at the festival, there’s not a chance he won’t have traps set up for anyone who is foolish enough to go after him.”

“We can disarm them.”

“Do _you_ know how to disarm a homemade bomb? Or _any_ type of bomb, for that matter? Because I sure don’t.”

“We’ll figure it out. We won’t get killed.” Kurogane pauses for a moment, his expression strange and confused. “Why are you being like this? You sound like you’re scared.”

“I _am_.” Fai sees no reason to deny it. He can’t get the explosion—the eerie stillness just before screaming and the burning smell of flesh and rubble—out of his head. “I don’t want you to die. I don’t want Syaoran-kun to die either.” A pause, and then, more softly, “ _I_ don’t want to die.”

“You’re serious.” Kurogane is quiet; he looks almost offended. “Have you ever known me to lose a fight?”

“No,” Fai admits. “But I’ve known you to get hurt. I’ve known you to almost die.” He swallows down the rest of the thought. As much as he doesn’t want to be swayed by the memory of seeing Kurogane collapse after being carved through by Ashura’s spell, of seeing Kurogane unconscious in Nihon with his blood seeping into the earth all around them, he can’t help it. Fai had barely been able to see through his tears and his panic, but he had seen _that_. It’s stark in his mind, _always_ too stark in his mind, complete with the sensation of Kurogane’s blood mixing with his own again.

“We’re going to die if we stay _here_.” Kurogane is blind to Fai’s anxiety—or he’s ignoring it. Fai isn’t sure which thought hurts worse. “So are more of the others. If we stay here—”

“If we stay here, we’re safe,” Fai interrupts. “If we stay here, we can set up our _own_ trap.”

“Who’s to say he won’t plant another bomb in the palace and bring the whole place down on us?”

“He still wants an apology from Saiki-dono.” Fai feels desperation beginning to rise in his throat, pitching his voice up with it. Mokona might as well be absent; he and Kurogane are practically speaking different languages. “Takahiro has already allowed him to live once. We have no reason to believe he would risk killing him without it.”

“He already _has_ ,” Kurogane growls. His brows furrow deeper. Fai can see Kurogane’s frustration as plainly as he can feel his own. “He could have easily taken out the chief with that bomb. He killed _nine people_ with it. He almost killed _us_. That healer and his guard are lucky to be alive.”

“Hey, don’t bring us into this,” Touya complains loudly. Fai jumps; he was so wrapped up in his argument with Kurogane that he had forgotten anyone else was in the room with them. Touya’s voice is strained as if talking hurts. His face is drawn and dazed, and his eyes are narrowed as if even the soft light of the room is too much for him. “Keep us out of your drama. Yuki isn’t a fighter, and I’m not leaving his side.”

Yukito glances sideways in worry at the pain in Touya’s voice. His arm goes tighter around Touya’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t let Toya go even if he wanted to,” he says softly. “You managed to escape relatively unharmed, and I was lucky too, but he…”

“It’s just a concussion, Yuki,” Touya mumbles, but he gives a smile small as he closes his eyes against the light and leans against Yukito.

“There’s nothing ‘just’ about it,” Yukito protests with a sigh. He looks back toward Kurogane and Fai. “Your choice is your own.”

“I want to—” Syaoran starts.

Fai cuts him off. “See? _This_ is why we stay. Another bomb like that, some sort of trap, and we’re _all_ dead.”

“’This is why we stay…?’” Kurogane repeats in a tone that can only be described as disgusted. “You really _are_ scared.” He steps closer to Fai to glare down at him with his arms crossed. Fai returns his glare evenly. He has never shrunk away from Kurogane before. He isn’t about to begin now. “You didn’t used to be like this,” Kurogane says, voice low. “Are you really so selfish that you’re willing to risk letting more innocent people die? Just because you’re _scared_?”

 _Selfish_. Kurogane hasn’t called him that in a long time. It still burns Fai to his core. He barks a laugh, one that he doesn’t really feel but can’t hold back. “This isn’t _about_ me,” he says incredulously. “Why are _you_ pretending to be chivalrous when we both know you just want to fight because you would have _lost_ in your battle earlier tonight? You just want to face Takahiro again to see who would win.”

Kurogane grits his teeth. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” There’s a sinking feeling in Fai’s stomach, an ache in his chest that seems to spread to his fingertips. He knows how this dance goes, feels its familiarity like he’s slipping back into an old pair of shoes. If Kurogane wants to make it personal, Fai will throw the next punch. “You’re right. I wasn’t like this before, because I didn’t _care_ before. I didn’t care if I lived or died. Now I do. I didn’t care about _you_ either, and now I _do_. I’ve changed. Haven’t you?”

“Shut up.” Kurogane’s voice is dangerous. Fai doesn’t care.

“You seriously just want to go rushing blind into battle again. Why? Is it because you think Takahiro would be a fun challenge?” Kurogane’s face flushes; Fai keeps going. “That’s how you _used_ to be, but I thought _you_ had changed too. _Princess Tomoyo_ thought you had changed. Was she wrong?”

Kurogane’s eyes blink into a flicker of genuine hurt before he’s able to snuff it out. Quiet anger, just as genuine as the hurt, takes its place. “You have _no_ idea what you’re talking about.”

Fai does though. They both do. They both know exactly what to say to drive the knife in as deep as possible, and Fai doesn’t care if he has to make the killing blow. “Princess Tomoyo only let you back into Nihon because she thought you had changed. You _haven’t_.”

Kurogane’s spine stiffens as if Fai has slapped him. The full weight of what Fai is implying drops solidly onto him in the silence that follows. He wants to take it back immediately, wants to say he was lying, he didn’t mean it, because he _didn’t_ , but he—

“Fine,” Kurogane says at last in a voice so low and dangerous that if Fai were anyone else—if _Kurogane_ were anyone else, too—he would flinch away from it. A second later Kurogane drops his gaze along with his shoulders. The hot fury in his eyes is replaced with icy stillness that is entirely out of place on him. “Fine. You stay here. I’ll go alone.”

“ _No_.” Panic seizes Fai by the throat. This is the _opposite_ of what Fai wanted. He wanted Kurogane to _wait_ , to be _smart_ , to not rush off into battle like a fool and get himself _killed_. “You _can’t_.”

“I’ve made my decision.” Kurogane steps back, but he still doesn’t look at Fai. “I’m going. You stay here and be scared. Set your traps, get buried under the rubble of that bastard’s bombs. I don’t care.”

All the fight is knocked out of Fai with a single breath. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yeah,” Kurogane says flatly, dragging his eyes up to Fai’s. He no longer looks angry, no longer looks still. He looks defeated, tired in a way he’s never been after a brawl. “I do.”

Of every blow they’ve given one another, physical and emotional, that one stings the worst.

Fai refuses to believe it. Kurogane would never have sacrificed his freedom and his future to keep him alive in Tokyo if he didn’t care if Fai lived or died. He would never have charged at Ashura so recklessly in Celes, would never have cut off his own arm with zero hesitation. But Kurogane is not a liar, and Fai _is_. Fai would recognize a lie that big anywhere. That leaves only one option.

Kurogane is telling the truth.

“Fai-san.” Syaoran’s soft voice breaks through the shock that paralyzes Fai. He glances down to see Syaoran tugging on his sleeve. “I think we should go too. Even if it means I would get hurt, or you, or Kurogane-san… I don’t want Takahiro to hurt anyone else.”

Fai closes his eyes. That’s it, then. That’s the breaking point. All of his determination to keep them safe leaves him to be replaced with a sick, hollow feeling of dread. “Fine,” he says lowly. “We go.” He opens his eyes to look back at Kurogane, who could gloat, _should_ gloat, or at least _smile_ , because he got the outcome he wanted.

Kurogane doesn’t gloat. He doesn’t smile. He stares at Fai without feeling for another long moment. Then he turns and walks out, muttering something about talking to Saiki about their plans. Fai watches him go, heart solidified in his chest and his throat. He sinks back onto one of the cushions, Kurogane taking his strength with him as he leaves. He was tired before; he’s _exhausted_ now, a bitter taste of betrayal and regret on his tongue.

“I’m sorry, Fai-san,” Syaoran says quietly. His brows are knit together in worry as he looks at Fai. “I didn’t mean to make things worse between you and Kurogane-san.”

“You didn’t,” Fai says gently. “I’m not mad at _you_. I’m just worried. I know you and Kuro-tan think this is the right thing to do.” The nickname feels strange on his lips, dissonant with this feeling that’s so very much like how he felt in Tokyo. “I just hope you’re right.”

“I don’t want you to be mad at Kurogane-san either,” Syaoran urges. Fai wants to smile and tell him he’s not, he could never _really_ be angry with Kurogane. He can’t do it. “Kurogane-san didn’t mean what he said. I _know_ he didn’t. And you… you didn’t mean what you said either.”

Syaoran’s eyes are searching. Fai knows what he wants him to say: no, he didn’t mean anything he just said to Kurogane, and yes, he forgives Kurogane. But Fai says none of those things. He closes his eyes instead; let Syaoran see what he wants to see. _Fai_ is no longer even sure if he meant what he said.

“Go get cleaned up and prepare for tomorrow,” Fai says at last, reopening his eyes to see Syaoran still watching him in concern. “We won’t leave tonight. Not even Kuro-sama is willing to do something that dangerous. We’ll set out in the morning. You need to rest after everything that happened.”

“Fai has to talk to Kurogane,” Mokona insists, still held in Syaoran’s arms. She looks even more worried than Syaoran does.

Fai does manage a smile at that. He reaches out and pats her head gently. “I will. I promise.” He draws his hand back and his smile turns more honest. “You need to sleep too. We count on you to keep us together.”

Mokona puffs up slightly with pride, and Syaoran nods in wary relief. He casts Fai one last glance from the doorway before ducking out. Fai knows Syaoran hates it when he fights with Kurogane. He knows Syaoran is just as worried about them getting injured as he is, but Syaoran’s good-hearted nature keeps him from not taking immediate action when there’s the potential for innocent people to be hurt.

Syaoran would sacrifice himself for a stranger; he would sacrifice himself for Fai and Kurogane too. They would never _let_ him, but he would. They both know it.

Fai prays it never comes to that—for any of them.

He sighs and turns back to where Yukito and Touya are getting to their feet, Yukito insisting on steadying Touya even as Touya protests that he’s fine now and can stand on his own. “You’ll be here?” Fai asks.

Yukito nods. “I’ll have salves and medicine prepared for your return. I doubt you’ll make it out without at least a few scratches.”

“My concern is that it will be more than that,” Fai says quietly. “Kuro-tan and Syaoran-kun aren’t exactly known for escaping battle unscathed.” He touches the skin beneath his left eye where it twinges with the memory of the injury that nearly took his own life. “I’m not either, I guess.”

“That’s if you don’t kill each other first,” Touya comments. Yukito smacks him lightly. “What? It’s true.”

Fai gives them a wry smile. “As hard as it may be to believe, Kuro-sama has saved my life several times.”

“I believe you,” Yukito says kindly, even as Touya gazes skeptically at Fai. “He cares about you. I hope you can talk things through.”

“We will.”

* * *

 

Fai does _try_ to talk to Kurogane.

He waits in their room—in _Kurogane’s_ room, he reminds himself, not _their_ room—with his legs curled underneath him. He sits in Kurogane’s bed, Kurogane’s pillow tucked in his arms, and as he presses his face into it he doesn’t know if he should be comforted or angered by the familiar smell of him. Fai is on edge; he starts at every sound, adrenaline flooding his veins and spilling from his chest as he thinks Kurogane is about to enter.

He never does.

Fai remains utterly alone, rehearsing what he’s going to say. He’ll apologize first; Kurogane never will, he knows, but that’s okay, because he also knows Kurogane didn’t _really_ mean it when he said he wouldn’t care if Fai died. There’s no way Kurogane would _ever_ say that and mean it. So Fai will apologize, then he’ll explain why he said what he did and tell Kurogane that _he_ was lying too, that he _knows_ Kurogane isn’t the same man he met at Yuuko’s shop.

An hour passes.

Halfway through the second hour, Fai’s anger flares again, infinitely hotter than the flickering flame in the lantern by the bed. He throws Kurogane’s pillow against the wall; it lands with an unsatisfying “fwoof.” What the _hell_ , Kuro-sama? What _was_ that? How could you _say_ that?

 _How could_ you _say that, Fai_? asks a voice in the back of his head that Fai quickly smothers. He doesn’t need to feel guilty. Kurogane threw the first stone. It isn’t Fai’s fault that he ended the fight by launching a cannonball. He was just worried. He still _is_.

Sometime in the third hour, Fai gives up.

It’s clear that Kurogane has no desire to talk to him.

Fai isn’t going off to look for Kurogane when he leaves. He knows he should sleep. They have a big day ahead of them, after all, and it’s already late. The others will no doubt want to leave when the sun rises in just a few short hours, but Fai’s thoughts are racing with “what ifs” that would keep him tossing turning all night if he tried to lie down. The walls press in around him; he feels both isolated and claustrophobic, so he abandons his silent vigil for Kurogane and wanders off.

Fai has no particular destination in mind as he walks out of the palace. The few people that remain outside pay him little attention as he passes them, all of them still too dazed from the attack to care about a random stranger heading aimlessly toward the jungle. Many of the people he walks by are gathering up rubble to clean the area, many of them robotically, as if this task is the only thing keeping them sane. Fai, to them, is no more meaningful than the rocks at their feet.

Fai finds a small, winding trail at the edge of the village that looks similar to the one he took the lake the day before. Maybe the lake would allow him to think clearly again. Maybe, in a place so similar to the pool he had in Celes, he could sleep. He’ll rejoin Kurogane and Syaoran in the morning feeling refreshed both physically and mentally.

Fai sparks up that same light on his fingertips as he enters the jungle. His fight with Kurogane replays in his head over and over, regret mixing with anger mixing with regret. There is so much he could have said instead, yet he wonders if there would have been any point. It isn’t _his_ fault that Kurogane made it personal—but it is his fault he responded how he did—but Kurogane never should have taken it out on him in the first place—but they were surely both just worried. Fai’s thoughts wind cyclical, and he doesn’t realize until it’s too late that his steps have gone cyclical too. The jungle is even darker and deeper at night, and he’s stepped over one too many fallen log, taken one too many right turns when he should have gone left. He spins and the light on his fingertips dances off dark trees, bright colors turned black and gray in the night. The light on his fingertips dances off dark trees, and he can’t get his bearings, shapes monstrous and twisting, and Fai doesn’t know if he’s facing toward the village or toward the center of the jungle as his steps quicken along with his breathing. He can’t get his bearings, and he turns toward what he thinks is a torch but is just the reflection of his glowing fingertips in the eyes of a strange, furry creature that nearly trips him when it darts around his feet. He spins, and the light dances, and he can’t get his bearings, and—

“Fai, right?”

Fai stiffens. He snuffs out the light as his blood runs ice cold. Fight or flight—and Fai, a product of Celes and Valeria, chooses a third option.

He freezes.

His fingertips twitch, and the first runes of a spell crackle to life. He recognizes that voice. He recognizes that _laugh_.

“Relax,” Takahiro says, his voice calm and soothing. Fai manages to turn slowly. Takahiro, lit by a small enclosed torch in his belt, approaches him, entirely carefree as if he _didn’t_ just murder half a dozen innocent people. He lifts his hands with a reassuring smile as he steps forward. “I thought we were friends.”

“’Friends?’ No.” Fai lowers his shaking fingers and allows the spell to dissipate. He can’t hope to face Takahiro here. He has no room to move, and Takahiro has those knives, glinting at his hips in the light. Fai wouldn’t even have the time to finish a single spell before his throat would be slit. “You need to go. I don’t want to fight you.”

“Great!” Takahiro’s smile broadens, and he drops his hands to his sides. “I’m not here to fight. I just want to talk.”

“I don’t want to _talk_ either. I want to leave.”

Takahiro frowns at the pallor of Fai’s face and the dread in his voice. “Why? What are you out here for if not to talk to me? Weren’t you warned not to enter the jungle alone? Everyone else was.” Takahiro takes another step forward, and Fai remembers how to move. He stumbles back, tripping over a root and narrowly catching his balance with his hands braced protectively in front of him. Takahiro frowns. “Are you afraid of me?” he asks quietly. His voice is the same tone, so low and dangerous and like Kurogane’s, as when he was holding Saiki with a knife to his throat.

“You _killed_ people,” Fai says instead of answering the question directly. Takahiro steps forward, and Fai nearly falls in his haste to get away. “You could have killed _me_.” His back hits solid wood, stopping him abruptly. Takahiro is close, _too_ close, but Fai can’t move, can’t escape. “Why? Was it worth it?”

“I was never going to kill _you_ ,” Takahiro murmurs, so close now that murmuring is all he _has_ to do. Fai doesn’t flinch when Takahiro reaches up to brush his hair aside, but his skin burns despite the chill in his veins. Takahiro touches the bandage on his forehead, face pained. “I never intended to even _hurt_ you. I already had my plans made for tonight. I didn’t know you would be there.”

Fai tastes his rapid heartbeat rising like bile in his throat. He can’t look at Takahiro’s eyes—those crimson eyes, just like Kurogane’s—so his gaze darts down and focuses on the bright of the lantern secured to Takahiro’s belt. “Why would it matter that I was there?”

“You look like Aoi,” Takahiro says softly. “I hope you _are_ like her.” His fingers drop to touch Fai’s cheek lightly, curling against his skin. Fai’s eyes betray recognition, and Takahiro’s narrow in response. “So he told you.”

“He—” Fai breaks off.

His eyes land on the feather.

Takahiro has Sakura’s feather on him _now_. Fai’s eyes are glued to Takahiro’s belt where a series of blades are sheathed, alongside one blade in particular. Sakura’s feather rests in the handle of a long, white knife, infinitely sharper than the rest, so much power resting in one blade.

The feather is here. It would take so little for Fai to grab it—just a single quick movement. If he can get Takahiro to come just a little bit closer…

“He said she died.” Fai lifts his gaze to Takahiro’s face. Crimson eyes, like Kurogane’s, gaze back at him.

“Did he say _how_?” Takahiro asks, dropping his hand from Fai’s face. Fai shakes his head—a liar, through and through. “Did he even tell you who she _was_?”

“No.” That much, at least, is true.

“She was my _wife_.”

The pieces all fall into place: Saiki’s lingering gaze when they first met, Takahiro’s casual and familiar treatment as if he had known Fai for years, Takahiro’s intense hatred of Saiki.

It all makes sense.

How did… how did she die?” Fai asks quietly. Takahiro grits his teeth and stares at the ground. He takes a step back, and Fai could run now, but he doesn’t. He stays where he is, back against the tree and his whole body tense.

“She didn’t _die_ ; she was _killed_. There’s a difference,” Takahiro growls. “ _He_ killed her—Saiki. That chief you’re all so determined to protect. He _murdered_ her. Gutted her like a pig. She didn’t _deserve_ that.”

“Aoi didn’t deserve to die,” Fai murmurs. He isn’t lying when he says it. Takahiro glances up at him, face torn. “Tell me what happened.”

“She was—she should never have died. It should never happened.”

“What _happened_?” Fai presses. He doesn’t have to drum up the pity in his voice.

“Aria seems so ideal,” Takahiro says finally, “but it’s not. We were married young and had no money. We were dying _before_ this. We were _starving_. We _had_ to steal to eat. Some rich bastard was traveling through our territory. I had caught wind that he had a bunch of jewels with him. I thought if we could just—”

Takahiro breaks off. His hands form fists by his sides, and he no longer stares at Fai but at his feet. Fai sets his fingertips to Takahiro’s hand. “You made a mistake,” Fai murmurs, and Takahiro nods.

“I made a mistake. I thought if we could steal from that rich bastard, we would be set for life. Aoi told me I was being a fool. She told me the bastard would have men protecting him. And he did.”

“She was killed because you were trying to stay alive.”

Takahiro nods. He looks up at Fai finally, and his gaze goes through Fai, as if Fai is not merely the ghost of Aoi but Aoi herself. “She was killed protecting me. She didn’t even want to _go_ ,” Takahiro whispers. “I forced her to. I told her that if we managed to steal from him, we would be rich enough to never have to steal again. All I wanted was to be able to eat and have some shelter from this heat. That’s all I wanted. She tried—She tried to talk me out of it, but she—I—”

“You couldn’t have known,” Fai murmurs. He reaches out a hand to cup Takahiro’s cheek, even as every cell in his body screams at him to flee. He’s so close to being able to take the knife with Sakura’s feather, _almost_ there. “You could never have known.”

“I _should_ have,” Takahiro says roughly. His self-blame is biting, but he closes his eyes and turns his head in against Fai’s palm. One of his hands goes to Fai’s hip to draw him in closer, the touch so like Kurogane’s that Fai shivers. _Almost_. “I knew what Saiki was capable of. I should have known better.”

“Thinking that way isn’t helpful.” Fai allows himself to be drawn in, to press his palm comfortingly against Takahiro’s cheek. _Almost_. “You aren’t to blame.” _Almost_.

“That’s beside the point,” Takahiro sighs, closing his eyes. _Almost_. “I can’t leave her like this. I need for him to at least admit his wrongdoing. Otherwise I’m worried she can’t move on.”

“She would want _you_ to move on,” Fai says. Takahiro nods into his palm. _Almost_. “She loved you. She wanted you to be happy.”

Takahiro’s laugh is soft. “See, I knew you being at the festival was a sign. I knew you had some part of her in—”

Fai’s fingers are less than an inch away from the feather when Takahiro’s hand closes over his wrist.

Fai jerks his head up. Takahiro’s eyes are as wide and startled as his—but in the next instant, Takahiro’s brows furrow deep and his lips turn up in what is nearly a snarl. Fai tries to pull back—forget the feather, forget all of it, forget his _life_ if he can’t escape—but he _can’t_. Takahiro’s grip is like iron on his wrist. The hand on his hip, so soft before, tightens until Fai chokes out a pained “stop” at the way Takahiro’s nails are digging into his skin, the bone itself feeling like it might shatter beneath Takahiro’s grip. He jerks back again, his hip burning and his wrist feeling close to breaking. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“I was _wrong_ ,” Takahiro growls. His face is inches away, his fingerprints wrought into Fai’s skin as he digs in with both his voice and his touch. “ _Aoi_ would never do this. You only care about yourself. About _them_.”

“No,” Fai gasps, “you’re wrong, I—”

Takahiro throws Fai heavily away from him. Fai lands in a tangle of vines, his wrist and hip pulsing with spasms of pain that he ignores. He scrambles back, wrist cradled to his chest and eyes wide as Takahiro glares down at him. Fai can’t move his left hand, but he raises his right in a wordless threat. He may die here, but he will go down fighting, no matter what. He won’t allow Kurogane and Syaoran to find him dead without him having done his best to prevent it.

Takahiro stares down at him. His disgust is painfully obvious, even more than Kurogane’s had been a few hours before. “You look like Aoi,” he growls. “But you aren’t. You’re just like the rest of them. Let this be a warning to you.” Takahiro could stab a knife into the earth next to Fai, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t have to. “Next time, I won’t go easy on you.”

“I—” Fai starts, but Takahiro is gone, leaving no trace but Fai’s wounds.

Fai stays on the ground, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, for several minutes after Takahiro’s footsteps have faded completely. Once he’s positive Takahiro is gone, Fai draws light from his fingertips once more so he can see how much damage has been done. Pulling up his shirt, he sees that his hip his already darkening in splotches, and his wrist looks as if he has spent the past week chained up. It hurts, but he can move it, so he doubts either bone is broken. Even Takahiro’s _grip_ is enough to bruise him. He could kill Fai without having to use any of his blades or bombs. His legs are shaky as he rises to his feet, steadying himself against a tree where his light catches on the ribbon tied there, something he could have used from the start to find his way back to the village.

It wasn’t a fluke. He didn’t start to defeat Kurogane simply because Kurogane was drunk and disoriented. He would have beaten Kurogane regardless.

Going after Takahiro will get them killed.

Fai is certain of that now.


	4. dusk

Fai makes it back to the village shortly before sunrise.

Each step hurts as he enters the palace and stumbles down the hall. He starts to push open the door to his and Kurogane’s room—then he remembers it isn’t _their_ room but rather _Kurogane’s_. He drops his hand from the wood, turns sharply, and heads into his own room instead. The bed is still made, sheets undisturbed having never been slept beneath, and Fai doesn’t bother to pull them up before he collapses onto the bed in exhaustion. He’s asleep in an instant, numb to all of his pain. His injured wrist stays cradled defensively against his chest, even as his sleep is black and dreamless.

Fai wakes with a start, heart beating fast as a low voice calls to him.

Sun shines in through the window, and Fai has to blink against it to make out the shape whose presence stirred him back to life. Kurogane stands in the doorway, brows as furrowed as ever but his face so neutral when he gazes down that Fai knows instantly that he is still angry.

Fai’s thoughts are still sleep-laden slow, so he doesn’t speak, but after a few moments, Kurogane does. “Time to go,” Kurogane says quietly. He turns and walks away without waiting to see if Fai will follow him.

Fai’s chest aches. He had hoped a night’s sleep would soothe some of the tension between them, but all it seems to have done is turn fire to ice. Fai wipes the sleep from his eyes as he sits up, but he doesn’t feel rested at all. The same sick sense of anxiety from the previous night is still there, solidified in his throat until he _feels_ it there, pressing sharp and solid against the base of his tongue. He isn’t angry anymore.

He’s just _scared_.

Not that it matters. He _told_ Kurogane as much yesterday, and his confession only made things worse.

Whatever.

Fai shoves the thoughts from his head as he walks into the main hall of the palace. Syaoran stands at Kurogane’s side, Mokona in his arms, and Saiki sits before them. Given the dark circles beneath his eyes, Fai doubts Saiki got any more sleep than he did.

Fai trips as he heads down the few steps leading into the hall, his wounded hip jarring in its socket, and his shirt lifts just enough to bare his bruises. Kurogane glances at him before Fai can grab his shirt and pull it back down, but he doesn’t so much blink at the new bruises on Fai’s hip or the delicate way he holds his left arm. He looks confused for a few seconds as his eyes find the fingerprints freshly laid into Fai’s skin; then his face smooths out with a visible decision to not care about them.

Kurogane’s dismissal stings worse than Fai’s bruises.

Fai chooses not to care about Kurogane’s lack of concern. He straightens up and looks to Saiki, who watches them with a faint air of regret. Syaoran, centered between Fai and Kurogane, casts a worried glance between them both.

“So,” Saiki says at last, “I understand you are going to go after Nakamura.”

“Looks that way!” Fai agrees, and he even manages to sound cheerful. Kurogane gives him a wry, faintly annoyed look.

Saiki nods in acceptance, although it clearly pains him to do so. “As much as I would like to, I can’t go with you. Nor can I tell you Nakamura’s exact location. My best guess is that he has returned to someplace near his former home.”

A million thoughts hit Fai at once—Takahiro’s torn gaze, his grief and regret nearly palpable; the sharp pulsepoints of pain in Fai’s hip and wrist; the stifling heat of the jungle—and anxiety, not memories but a worried present for a lack of a future, because Fai can’t shake the feeling that they’re walking into a trap, no matter how determined Kurogane and Syaoran may be to do just that.

Syaoran’s quiet voice interrupts Fai’s rambling thoughts. “How do we find it?” he asks.

“The ribbons tied around the trees—they’re a map, of sorts,” Saiki explains. “The jungles of Aria had the potential for danger even before Nakamura and his kind. Some areas are more dangerous than others. The ribbons are color-coded. I can guide you to the red ribbons that lead down the path where Nakamura took his victims. If you follow them—if you head in the opposite direction from the bells—you will head deeper and deeper into the jungle. I believe you will come across Nakamura—and your feather—somewhere along that path. From there, you will have to search.”

“Not exactly,” Fai sighs. Kurogane glances razor sharp at him. “My magic—it should have left enough of a trace for me to track. As long as we can get close enough for me to sense it, I think I can find him.”

“You didn’t think to say something _sooner_?” Kurogane asks lowly. “Knowing that would have made this an easier decision to make.”

Fai fixes him with an exhausted smile that comes nowhere close to reaching his eyes. “Does it matter? I’m saying it now.” He almost wishes he hadn’t. Perhaps if he had lied, then they wouldn’t be able to find Takahiro, and everything could be avoided. But as Kurogane growls and shoves past him to walk out of the palace, Fai knows that’s not true.

Kurogane and Syaoran would go after Takahiro no matter what. Even searching blindly through the jungle wouldn’t stop them.

Fai can’t do much, but he’ll keep them safe, no matter what.

* * *

 

It isn’t difficult to find the ribbons.

Saiki leads them to the edge of the jungle and instructs them on where to go, wishing them luck and a speedy return, and they have no difficulty in following the trail. The bells on the ribbons are larger and more echoing, the ribbons themselves broader and brighter, so it’s merely a matter of following the sounds and the markers. The ribbons are such a vibrant shade of red, such a clear warning that practically screams “go this way and you’ll end up bleeding!” that it’s cliché. It’s so obvious that Fai actually laughs when he first sees them, earning him a confused look from Kurogane.

This portion of the jungle is even denser than where they were before. Vines hang thick from the trees, and it takes Kurogane more than a few whacks to slice through them. Fai stays several yards behind him, not daring to step any closer. Kurogane cuts down the vines with cooler anger than that first day, each blow methodical and careless at once. He swings wider than necessary, hits harder, but his eyes are quietly angry and determined beneath his furrowed brows.

Fai whistles as Kurogane cuts through a series of vines with a growl. “Kuro-sama is so violent,” he comments.

“Shut up,” Kurogane snaps, breathless. He fixes Fai with a weary glare. “I’m just trying to get us through here as fast as possible.”

“Still violent,” Fai teases, but it sounds more like an insult than a joke.

Kurogane’s anger may be cooler than before, but the air isn’t. The humidity keeps any of Fai’s sweat from leaving his skin, and it’s sticky and stifling and difficult to breathe. With the closeness of the trees, no breeze can spring up. Fai is breathing hard almost immediately, and after a solid thirty minutes of quietly leading the group, Kurogane, too, is forced to take a break as sweat rolls down his forehead, slicking his hair to his skin. His arms, too, glisten with sweat, muscles flexing as he lowers Ginryû and pants. He leans heavily on the sword as he works to catch his breath, and Syaoran jogs forward.

“I can take over for a while,” Syaoran offers, and Kurogane silently jerks his head in a short nod. Syaoran steps up, slicing into the vines, and Kurogane falls back. He folds his sword back into his palm and straightens up with a long exhale, twining his fingers together behind his head as his breathing finally steadies out again.

Fai starts to brush past him, but Kurogane catches his wrist with a quiet “oi.” Fai flinches at the touch; Kurogane’s fingers have closed around his injured wrist, and he jerks it away before Kurogane can comment on it. Kurogane frowns at his pain but doesn’t ask, and Fai doesn’t offer an explanation.

Ahead of them, Syaoran glances back briefly, Mokona peering over his shoulder, then continues on. Kurogane sets a hand on Fai’s upper back and shoves him forward, far less gently than the previous night. “Something wrong, Kuro-sama?” Fai lilts as they walk side-by-side.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Kurogane asks quietly.

Fai ducks beneath a branch and faces Kurogane, fixing him with a smile even sweeter than the fruit of Aria. “Is _what_ going to be a problem?”

“Don’t give me that,” Kurogane growls. “You know what I mean. Us. Fighting.”

“Not for me.” Fai’s voice is light—too light. “Is it for you?”

“Yeah,” Kurogane says bluntly, “because if you’re too mad to even _admit_ that you’re mad, then I can’t guarantee you aren’t hiding something else. I need to know that I can trust you.”

Fai’s smile, false as it is, drops from his face. He stops dead in his tracks as Kurogane’s words echo in his ears.

_“Don’t you trust me?”_

_“You? Always.”_

That was a lie, apparently.

“You can,” Fai says quietly, seriously. “I’m not mad.”

Kurogane scowls. “Don’t give me that crap,” he growls. “You—”

“I’m not _mad_ ,” Fai interrupts, emphasis heavy with implication on the last word. He’s hurt, he’s bitter, he’s _sad_ , but he’s not _mad_. He almost wishes he were, because if he could match Kurogane’s anger with his own, then perhaps it wouldn’t hurt so much.

Kurogane blinks. His eyes narrow with understanding, and he almost looks regretful. “I—” he starts, but Fai has already moved on. Fai skips forward, completely ignoring him, the false smile back on his face. “Hey! We aren’t done!”

“Yes, we are!” Fai sings back. He catches Syaoran’s arm, and behind him, he hears Kurogane give a short, frustrated growl.

Fai doesn’t care. If Kurogane had wanted to talk to him, to work things out, he should have done so last night. He had every chance; Fai waited in his room for _hours_. Right now, Fai can’t think about what happened. He can’t think about the pain in his side and his wrist, constant reminders that they are walking straight into danger, or what he and Kurogane _said_ , because, lies or truth, their words will only distract him. Better to ignore the issue. Better to shove it down deep inside of him like Fai has always done before. There, the feelings may solidify into solid hurt, sharpen into a diamond of pain, but at least they will be hidden. Fai can deal with his feelings once they’re all _safe_.

The heat of Aria’s jungles only serves to refine the feelings even further. Fai is irritated, and he _knows_ some of that is just from the scorching temperatures. Syaoran struggles beneath the weight of the heat, quickly faltering as he tries to be as strong as Kurogane and lead them as firmly. He stumbles and narrowly catches himself against a tree. He turns and slouches against it, blinking against the sweat that stings his eyes. “Fai-san, are we—are we close enough for you to sense your magic?” he manages.

Fai pauses and closes his eyes. He reaches out with his mind, and there, on the very edge of his blackened vision, he sees a spark of light. He can’t quite catch it; it’s still dim, and trying to look at it head on is like trying to look directly at a star, making it blink out of existence. “Barely,” he says as he opens his eyes. “I can’t tell where exactly, but I can tell we’re on the right track.”

“We already _knew_ that,” Kurogane grumbles. He pushes on ahead, taking Syaoran’s place once more at the head of the group and hacking through more vines, following the trail of red ribbons.

Fai sighs. He goes to follow, but Syaoran grabs his arm, his brows drawn together. Fai winces, and Syaoran drops his wrist immediately, looking from the bruises to Fai’s face and back. “You didn’t get those in the fight yesterday,” Syaoran realizes. “Your hip too. What… what are those from?”

Fai’s face burns, and it isn’t because of the heat. Of course Syaoran noticed. “They’re from Takahiro,” he says, and it isn’t technically a lie. There’s no sense in telling Syaoran about last night—not right now. “I’m okay.”

“But are… you and Kurogane-san okay? You’re still fighting.”

Fai can’t deny that; even a stranger could tell they aren’t getting along. “We’re fine,” he says gently instead. “You don’t need to worry about us.” Syaoran is obviously not convinced, so Fai turns away and hollers, “Kuro-tan! Wait for us!” as he jogs ahead after him.

Fai trails after Kurogane through the jungle, smothered by heat and the closeness of the brush. Every so often, Fai pauses to close his eyes and reach out for his magic. It tingles on the edge of his mind, familiar and warm, and he feels them drawing nearer to it as they continue to pick their way through the jungle, past the towering trees and over fallen logs and wrapping vines. Perhaps they should have left earlier; it’s nearing mid-afternoon already, the sun scorching hot above them through the thick canopy, and they _have_ to find Takahiro before it sets. Takahiro has proven just how dangerous he is twice now, and even in a familiar place, nighttime wouldn’t be safe for them to fight. In Aria, where the territory of this country is still utterly foreign, they have no hope to succeed if they reach Takahiro after nightfall.

Fai doubts it will take them that long. They’re drawing ever closer to that spark of his magic, no longer only on the periphery of his vision but closer to the center and much brighter. Fai closes his eyes and stares directly at the light on the backs of his eyelids, off to one side and _moving_ slightly.

 _Takahiro_ is moving slightly.

Kurogane crashes through another layer of vines as Fai opens his eyes. Kurogane marches ahead unthinkingly, but Fai rushes forward and grabs his shirt as he spies something peculiar jutting out in front of him, his residual magic nearly blinding to him now.

“There’s something there,” Fai warns. Kurogane blinks down at him, and Fai, breathless, leans against Kurogane without thinking, his hand still fisted tightly in Kurogane’s shirt. He presses in against Kurogane automatically and takes a break.

Then he realizes what he’s doing, and he jerks away as if he’s been burned.

Fai moves forward, ignoring how his cheeks are no doubt reddening. Instinct told him to get close to Kurogane; in the moment, it was all too easy to forget that they’re supposed to be fighting.

Ahead of Fai is something like wood, tucked into the backdrop but smooth enough to be unnatural, buried beneath undergrowth and flowers but still solid. It’s like a mirage, barely visible and fluttering in the heat. Beneath it, Fai feels his magic, stirring low in the base of his spine. “He’s close,” Fai says quietly. He lifts a fern, pushes a branch out of the way, and the wood takes a firm shape at last.

It’s a house.

“House” may be too strong of a word. The building is just a shack, if that, with no porch and no windows. It consists of wooden boards haphazardly thrown together with something approximating a door in the middle. Inside, Fai’s magic burns, so bright now that he doesn’t need to close his eyes to see it. He catches Kurogane’s eye and nods mutely. Kurogane draws back Ginryû, steps forward, and bashes down the door with a resounding crash.

Inside is nothing.

The building is nothing but bare walls and a single room, utterly barren and only a few feet across in any direction. By the time all three of them have entered, the place is claustrophobically tight. Kurogane leans against a wall, scowling, while Syaoran looks at Fai in confusion. Fai wasn’t _wrong_ , though. He can sense his magic, and this room is…

“The bastard isn’t here,” Kurogane growls, grip tightening on the hilt of his sword in disappointment. “Let’s keep going.”

“Hold on,” Fai says, lifting a hand. “I think…” He can taste his magic in the air, a shifting current of familiarity in his mind. “He _was_ here, and he… still _is_ , but…” Fai breaks off, frustrated. “I don’t know. He’s…” He waves his arms. “ _Someplace_.”

“How helpful.” Kurogane frowns and closes his eyes, only to reopen them a second later. “The wall isn’t solid. I can hear the wind, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. Make the room darker.”

“A ‘please’ would be nice, Kuro-sama,” Fai drawls, but he does as requested. He snuffs out all light in the room, standing frozen in the darkness. “Better?” Kurogane doesn’t speak, and Fai doesn’t even consider trying to move. He doesn’t have Kurogane’s highly trained senses; he can’t see or hear what Kurogane does.

“There,” Kurogane says at last. “The light.”

Fai has no idea what Kurogane is talking about. He sees _no_ light. But apparently Syaoran does, because Fai feels him flick past him and hears his foot connect with the wall with a loud crash. Fai snaps his fingers, and as light returns to the room, it floods in through a huge hole in the wall that opens into a much broader space behind.

The flicker of Fai’s magic freezes.

“Wait,” Fai hisses as Kurogane pushes past him and through the hole. “Something is _wrong_.”

The blast is smaller than the explosion at the festival.

It’s still enough to hurt.

Kurogane falls back as he triggers the bomb, shrapnel flying through his pants and splitting open his leg. He drops to one knee with a rough growl for only an instant before he’s back on his feet, all of his senses focused single-mindedly on the man in the center of the large room.

Takahiro Nakamura sits, knives at his waist, explosive materials scattered all around him, and he doesn’t seem surprised at all to see them. One hand is already at his hip, dragging the knife that contains Sakura’s feather free from its sheath as he stands; the other knocks down a half-finished bomb that sparks to life for only a moment before Takahiro kicks it, snuffing it out. “Took you long enough,” Takahiro says, and he almost sounds _pleased_.

Then Kurogane slams down onto him, and Takahiro says nothing else at all.

Takahiro laughs as Kurogane’s sword connects with his blades, sparks flying between them. He easily ducks out of the way of Syaoran’s kick and dances back, returning Kurogane’s blows evenly with his own. Fai pulls up shields—one on Syaoran and one of Kurogane. Takahiro catches his eye for the briefest of moments as Fai’s runes spill into the air, bright and familiar, as if they’re drawing the remnants of magic Fai was following from Takahiro’s skin.

Takahiro sidesteps Kurogane’s blow. He slips his sword up past Fai’s shield, and neither Fai nor Kurogane can react quickly enough to stop it. Ice floods Fai’s veins as Takahiro slices up through Kurogane’s side. Fai twists; the shield does too, but he’s too late. The barrier connects with Takahiro to knock him back, but it doesn’t stop Kurogane from getting hurt.

The sight of Kurogane clutching his side and bleeding is a sight that is all too familiar.

Fai jerks up his hands. He blasts arrows of pure light at Takahiro, who sidesteps them with lightning quick ease. Syaoran spins another kick at Takahiro, but Takahiro catches his ankle in his hand and slams him down hard against the earth, where he doesn’t immediately rise.

Kurogane takes his place. Fai blasts off another attack, but he misjudges, or maybe Kurogane does, because of his arrows catches _Kurogane_ in the shoulder. Kurogane doesn’t react, even as Fai flinches back in dismay, too slow to nullify the power of the attack. The force of the blow throws Kurogane off-balance; his attack goes wide as he staggers.

Fai grits his teeth. He draws another shield in front of Kurogane. Kurogane breaks through it too soon, rendering it all but useless, and Fai can’t do _anything_ when Takahiro slices up over Kurogane’s temple. Takahiro is utterly unfazed by all of this, _amused_ , almost, by how seriously they’re taking the fight.

Takahiro easily blocks Kurogane’s sword and knocks him away.

“Raitei—” Syaoran starts, but Takahiro flicks a knife at him. Syaoran is forced to roll to avoid it; even then, it catches his cheek. Fai tries to keep up from a distance, but he can’t; his shields are too slow, his attacks too late, and when he sends a spire of light toward Takahiro he misses entirely.

Fai works well with Kurogane; he _always_ works well with Kurogane. But right now, he can’t predict Kurogane’s attacks. Kurogane draws back his arm; Fai thinks he’s going for shô-ryû-sen, but the attack that leaves his blade is tenma kû-ryû-sen, and Fai’s spell, intended to make the attack stronger, all but nullifies it as it slices straight through it.

Kurogane growls his frustration as Takahiro laughs, but he doesn’t look back at Fai. Fai wishes he would. Maybe it would be better if he did; maybe they could _communicate_ if he did.

But—

Kurogane doesn’t look back.

He keeps attacking, keeps pressing forward, even as Fai tries desperately to throw up shields he knows will come too late. Kurogane keeps fighting, and Fai can’t understand why Kurogane is responding as if he expects to be kept safe when Fai can’t _do_ that right now. He’s already proven that, so why—

The answer comes to him far brighter than the shock of his magic. It’s so obvious that Fai doesn’t know why he’s just now realizing it.

Kurogane _trusts_ him.

Kurogane, despite his questions, despite their argument, is changing nothing about his fighting style. He’s continuing to attack Takahiro head on, putting faith in Fai’s ability to protect him. He believed Fai’s answer to his question earlier: that he can trust Fai, no matter what.

Kurogane trusts Fai: always.

Fai surges forward with new determination. This time, when Kurogane pulls back his sword, Fai recognizes the motion, and the swirling spell that leaves his fingers as the barked attack leaves Kurogane’s blade strengthens it. Tenma kû-ryû-sen slams into Takahiro so hard that he’s knocked to the ground. He’s immobile for only a moment, but a moment is all Fai and Kurogane need.

Fai pulls up a shield around Kurogane; Takahiro’s blades bounce uselessly off of it. _Kurogane_ smiles now, that brilliant grin of losing himself in the heat of the battle. It’s Takahiro’s turn to be frustrated, to be _scared_ , as Kurogane pounds him back, Fai keeping him safe.

Fai starts to flick forward another attack when Takahiro turns toward him. His mouth is a grim line. Their eyes connect. Then the knife connects with Fai’s hand.

It splinters through the flesh, rending muscle and sinew. The force of it knocks Fai into the wall, and he jerks as he’s pinned there, agony spiking down his arm with such fury that Fai is immobilized. His fingers are splayed against the wall like the wings of a butterfly; they twitch but can’t be moved. Fai gasps as the pain stabs through him. His shield dissipates with his now-useless hand.

Takahiro doesn’t smile again. His face is expressionless, and Kurogane snarls, no longer grinning, as he attacks. Syaoran glances back at Fai; that brief moment of distraction is all Takahiro needs. Fai can’t get a shield up on Syaoran before Takahiro kicks him away so hard that Fai hears the sickening crunch of broken ribs as he connects with the wall. Syaoran lies motionless on the floor, and Fai’s blood _boils_.

Fai feels like he’s burning, unable to help. He projects a shield at Kurogane as Kurogane attacks then looks at his hand. He reaches up and tugs at the knife, but the motion just tears it further into his palm and stabs pain through all of him. “Stop,” Fai rasps, casting a desperate glance at the battle. His shield breaks; Takahiro’s nick Kurogane’s chest and force him to fall back. “Takahiro, _stop_ —”

“Why?” Takahiro asks simply, but his voice is hard. Kurogane launches himself into another attack, and Fai tries to defend him but fails. Takahiro simply breaks the shield, weakened now, and knocks Kurogane back hard enough that Kurogane doesn’t immediately recover.

“Because,” Fai tries, desperate to do _anything_ to stop this, “Aoi wouldn’t want this.”

At his wife’s name, Takahiro turns sharply toward Fai, his gaze hardening. “You don’t know that,” he says, voice cold. “You don’t know _her_.”

“I know she wouldn’t want _this_ ,” Fai insists. “Please. Just stop.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kurogane and Syaoran stir. “If you turn yourself in, you could make things right.”

“ _No_ ,” Takahiro swears. His grip goes white-knuckled around the hilts of his knives. “I can’t. I _won’t_. I can’t avenge Aoi if I do that.”

“She wouldn’t have wanted you to do this.”

Takahiro’s gaze turns to flint. “You never _knew_ her,” he snaps. “She didn’t deserve to _die_.”

“Neither do _we_ ,” Fai pleads.

Kurogane crashes down onto Takahiro, who returns his attack in kind. Takahiro no longer looks confident but rather desperate, desperate to defeat these men who have gotten in his way of completing his goal at every turn, to defeat Kurogane, who looks so much like him, to defeat _Fai_ , who looks so much like his _wife_ and whose absence could finally cast her memory from his head. Takahiro is even desperate to defeat Syaoran, who looks like nobody at all but himself but who is attacking, even more fiercely than Kurogane, his gaze single-minded on the blade with Sakura’s feather. He strains toward it; Takahiro slams him back to several yards away.

“If you try to stop me—” Takahiro’s eyes glint as hard as the steal in his hands as he launches a knife as Syaoran’s head— “you _do_.”

“ _No_!”

The word could come from one or all of them—Fai, Kurogane, Mokona—could come from anyone except Syaoran because Syaoran isn’t paying attention. He’s moving forward, face determined, focused, _too_ focused, on Sakura’s feather.

Fai _has_ to keep them safe.

No matter what.

Fai tears his hand free from the knife. Pain spikes through his arm as electricity spikes through his veins, his skin itself crackling with the intensity of it. He slams his hands on the ground, the static numbing him, to send up a spell with a force even greater than the bomb that went off before. It collides with Takahiro with enough force to blow him away, and it knocks Kurogane back into the wall, the wood splintering beneath his weight.

It doesn’t stop the knife.

Fai’s spell was too late. The knife left Takahiro’s fingertips so long ago it might as well have been an eternity. Time seems to slow as the blade shoots toward Syaoran, out of the blast radius of Fai’s spell and still in the line of fire. Fai jumps to his feet, sprints forward dream-slow, and launches himself at Syaoran.  Fai’s hand connects with his shoulder, all of his magic concentrated in his palm, to shove him away and—

The knife comes to a stop.

Fai staggers back when it stabs through his ribs. Something in his chest draws tight then snaps as agony slices through him, the sensation of tearing even sharper than the blade. His eyes go wide. Distantly, he registers a barked “ _Fai_ ” in a low, harsh voice that sounds like Kurogane’s, but it _can’t_ be, because Kurogane has _never_ said his name, so it can’t—

Fai’s breathing halts as his knees hit the ground and pain shoots up his spine. One hand gripping the cold metal protruding from his chest, the other barely holding him up on the floor, Fai hears Syaoran shout while Mokona frantically repeats his name. He jerks his head up to see Syaoran staring at him, wide-eyed and worried, through a narrow tunnel of vision before his head goes light with oxygen as he remembers how to breathe.

Fai glances sharply at Takahiro. Takahiro has gotten to his feet, standing once more and still watching them, his expression half-hopeful and half-horrified, and Fai recognizes grief and memories and trauma in the shaking of his shoulders and the fear in his eyes, but he doesn’t _care_ because Takahiro tried to kill _Syaoran_.

Fai is going to make Takahiro _wish_ he had killed him.

He rises to his feet. His free hand, the one not stopping himself from bleeding out, hangs loose by his side for only a moment before he draws it up in front of him. He ignores Syaoran’s cries of protest as he straightens and fixes Takahiro with a glare that seems made of the same steel as the knife in his chest.

It’s Takahiro’s turn to stumble backwards. He trips in his haste to get away—and that’s all that saves him as jagged beams of light pierce the air just above him. Another shot; another miss, even luckier this time. The next beam catches Takahiro’s arm, drawing blood. Fai steps up. The beam that leaves his fingertips rips violently through Takahiro’s clothes, too much force behind it to pin him still like Fai had intended.

No matter. The next one will end this.

Fai falters. He coughs. The hand that goes to his mouth comes away crimson. His blood chokes him, and he can’t _breathe_. Still, he doesn’t fall. He _can’t_ ; they _need_ that feather, and if _he_ is going to be down for the count they have to get it _now_. They need the feather, need to stop Takahiro, need to keep anyone else from dying, and Fai never wanted to go after him like this in the first place but won’t waste the opportunity they’ve been given. With a grimace he draws up his arm again. The light that leaves his fingertips hits Takahiro square in the chest, but it doesn’t injure him. It marks him with a glowing emblem that his clawing fingers can’t erase.

Fai can feel Kurogane looking at him. He’s risen to his feet as well, Fai’s spell having knocked him back hard enough to splinter the wood of the wall beneath him. Kurogane’s face betrays nothing but anger and grim determination, but his eyes are fixed on Fai’s chest where blood has stained his light clothes dark. Fai wants to smile at him despite the copper on his tongue, on his lips, but he can’t. If they hadn’t been fighting, if they had worked _better_ together, like they _always_ have, then this may never have happened at all.

Kurogane has murder in his eyes. Fai knows him well enough to know that he means it. Fai, furious as he was, was never going to _kill_ Takahiro. Kurogane is. The second Kurogane’s eyes flick to Takahiro’s face, Takahiro takes a step back. Kurogane’s eyes are dark, nothing but rage held in their depths. He steps forward. Takahiro _runs_ , the light from Fai’s spell leaving a glowing trail in his wake.

Kurogane doesn’t go after him—not this time. “Mage—” Kurogane starts, voice low and dangerous, at the same time that Syaoran says, “Fai-san—” with more fear than anger. Mokona is still crying, repeating Fai’s name in a high, terrified voice. Both boys step closer to him; Mokona bounds from her hiding place. Fai shakes his head adamantly and holds out an arm, wrist limp where he wrenched it from the blade. The trail left by his spell is already fading.

“Go,” Fai orders before Kurogane or Syaoran can get close enough to see how much blood has already soaked through his shirt. “Follow the light before he gets too far away to track.” His voice is harsher than he meant for it to be, but it serves its purpose. Syaoran freezes as if he were the one who was just stabbed and looks up at Kurogane in confusion and worry. Mokona hops onto Syaoran’s shoulder, tears falling from her eyes as she repeats Fai’s name once more in a small voice. “I’m fine, just _go_!”

Kurogane watches Fai for another heartbeat. Fai can only hope Kurogane doesn’t see—or at least ignores—his trembling fingers failing to stem the flow of blood. When their eyes meet, understanding flashes between them, and Kurogane’s face darkens with frustration and resignation. He turns away with a growl and takes off at a sprint. Syaoran hesitates only a moment before trailing after him, quick on his heels.

Them gone, Fai finally lets out a rough cry of pain and collapses to the ground, scooting back until he can lean against the wall. He pulls his hand off the wound to take in the damage; his fingers come away slick with blood—a _lot_ of blood.

Fai braces his hand over the wound again, even though his shaking fingers do very little to stop his bleeding. He’s lucky that the blade is still buried firmly in his chest, however much the sight of it makes him dizzy and nauseated. Without it, he isn’t sure he’d be alive. Something—the pain, the panic, the fatigue—is steadily making breathing more difficult. Fai leans his head back against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut as exhaustion courses through him.

If Syaoran had been hit, then _he_ would be—

Fai doesn’t want to think about that.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself before taking a deep breath, forcing his eyes open, and struggling to his feet. “Okay.” He _has_ to get back to the village. He has no idea how long it will take Syaoran and Kurogane to capture—or kill—Takahiro and retrieve Sakura’s feather, and he can’t lie around here in a pool of his own blood until they return. Fai summons the remainder of his strength, blocks the pain from his head, and pushes forward.

It hurts to walk. Fai is off-balance and dizzy, focused only on putting one foot in front of the other in front of the other. Each step jars the metal in his skin; he’s all too aware of how _sharp_ this blade is and that he’s doing more damage to himself with every jolting step. He can do it though. He has no choice. As long as he doesn’t think about how much it hurts, about how the air itself seems to be strangling him, about how difficult it’s growing to try to see, he can keep walking with single-minded focus toward the village. He just has to keep going, keep thinking about Kurogane and Syaoran and Sakura and keep _going_. Even when he trips over a root that he can’t see through the speckled black in his vision and gasps at the sudden spike of all-consuming pain, he keeps going. It’s fine; _he’s_ fine. It’s okay that his feet are so heavy he can barely lift them and that the trees seem to be going horizontal and darker; it’s okay, even though the blood from his chest is now running down his leg, and he’s struggling to take even the smallest gulps of breath past the ever-tightening pressure in his chest; it’s okay, he’s okay, he’s—

Fai doesn’t realize he passed out until Syaoran’s voice breaks through the haze. His vision is still fuzzy, and the tree roots and vines are pressed hard and uncomfortable against his back. He tests his muscles to make sure they still work, drawing his limbs out of their tangled position from how he landed when he fell. He _hears_ Syaoran, but he doesn’t see him and can’t understand his words, only the distant, frightened tone of them. Fai’s chest still burns, all the way down his spine and up into his brain. It’s all he can do to take small, shallow breaths.

“Stupid, stupid mage.” Kurogane’s gruff voice cuts through the din of pain. Fai hadn’t even noticed him approach. Before he can wave Kurogane off and tell him he’s fine and not to worry, Kurogane scoops him up to cradle him against his chest. Fai tries and fails to choke back a sob as Kurogane begins the trek back to the village with Fai in his arms. He buries his face in against Kurogane’s shoulder. Even like this, he finds some sort of comfort in the familiar shape and smell of Kurogane, warm and strong and safe despite the pain that threatens to render him unconscious again. Fai tries to take a deeper breath, but it scrapes ragged through his lungs as the knife twists. He tries again; it hurts just as much the second time, but concentrating on his breathing is easier than thinking about the knife buried in his flesh.

“What the hell were you _thinking_?” Kurogane asks as he moves swiftly forward. He isn’t pausing to cut down branches or vines; Fai thinks he must be following the same trail they took before, but he doesn’t open his eyes to check. “You _idiot_.”

“I wasn’t—” Fai starts, but he breaks off with a sharp gasp. “Why—Why did you come _back_?” It takes all of his strength to form his breath into words. “You were supposed to stop Takahiro and get Sakura-chan’s feather. That was the whole _point_ of this, and I—”

“We _did_ ,” Kurogane says, holding Fai tighter as he ducks below a branch. Fai looks down; tucked into Kurogane’s belt is the blade with the feather. “Over an hour ago. Your spell worked, so we…”

Kurogane is still talking, but Fai isn’t listening.

 _Over an hour ago_?

That makes no sense. Kurogane, Syaoran, and Mokona only left him a few minutes ago. That wouldn’t have been nearly long enough to catch up with Takahiro and subdue him. But they’re here, and Fai knows full well Kurogane wouldn’t have come back for him if Takahiro were still a threat. Fai searches back through the missing time ( _is_ the time missing?), but he can’t make sense of it. He was unconscious for only a few seconds, surely, and it _can’t_ have been an hour, it _can’t_ have been…

“…how long were you out for?” Kurogane asks slowly at Fai’s distant silence. “Never mind. Don’t talk. You’re scaring the kid.” His voice is too low for Syaoran to hear him, with a tone that makes something in the still-present part of Fai’s mind think he might be scaring Kurogane too.

Fai steadies himself against Kurogane’s shoulder and gulps down another sob that would have hurt him anyway. He drops his head to look down at Syaoran. The boy is stark white and scared, so much so that Fai’s instincts take over and he manages a comforting smile. “I’m okay,” he murmurs. It almost sounds like he means it, but Syaoran doesn’t look reassured, and Mokona, tucked in Syaoran’s arms, just cries Fai’s name softly, tears in her eyes.

Fai tastes blood on his tongue as he turns to lean in against Kurogane again, breathing in the familiarity of him. “Don’t let Syaoran-kun in when we get back,” he whispers. “I don’t want him to see— Keep him out.”

“I will.” Kurogane’s voice rumbles reassuringly against Fai’s cheek.

Fai keeps his eyes tightly shut and his head tucked into Kurogane’s shoulder. He focuses on breathing as the sky grows dark around them. He only knows when they make it back to the palace because of the change of temperature.

“You’re back!” Fai hears. The relief in Saiki’s voice only lasts a single breath before it is replaced with solemnity. “In here.” Kurogane snaps something at Syaoran about staying put, and then Fai’s own high, keening sob is all he hears as Kurogane lowers him onto something hard and flat. The knife shifts in his chest and arches his back in a spasm of pain, even worse than before. He catches the muffled voices of Saiki and Yukito, and then Yukito’s gentle hand is pressed to his forehead.

Kurogane turns away. The instant his touch is gone, Fai forgets about the pressure he should be keeping on the wound. His eyes fly open and he scrambles to hang onto Kurogane instead, narrowly catching Kurogane’s wrist. “Kurogane—” Fai rasps, name full in his panic. “Wait—”

Kurogane’s eyes dart from Fai’s face to the knife sticking out of his chest. “Let go,” he growls. “Let the healer do his damn job.” It’s all Fai can do to shake his head. He couldn’t catch his breath _before_ , and the continued quiet anger in Kurogane’s voice has knocked the little air still in his lungs free. Kurogane could pull away easily; he’s stronger than Fai even when Fai hasn’t shattered his own wrist and lost almost three pints of blood, but he doesn’t move, all but frozen by Fai’s weak grip on his arm. “Let _go_.”

Fai’s arm has begun to grow heavy, but he doesn’t let go. “I will,” he promises. “Just—stay. I know you’re still mad at me, but— _please_.”

Something in Kurogane’s face shifts. The anger isn’t gone, but it’s joined by something else, something nameless and raw that feels like breaking. Then he closes his eyes and it’s gone again, leaving Fai wondering if it was ever there at all. Kurogane glances up at Yukito questioningly. Fai doesn’t try to turn his head, but Yukito must have nodded because when Kurogane shakes his wrist free of Fai’s grasp it’s so he can take his hand instead.

“This is going to hurt,” Yukito warns. Fai doesn’t have a chance to ask him _what_ is going to hurt before the pain hits him. Yukito has cut through his shirt, and when he pulls the fabric away it feels as if it takes Fai’s skin with it. His blood has glued the cloth to his skin; even though he’s biting down with gritted teeth Fai can’t keep the pained hiss from leaving him, nails digging into Kurogane’s hand so hard they break the skin. Kurogane’s expression doesn’t change, but his face pales as he sees the full extent of the damage. Fai wants to make some quip about it, some comment about how Kurogane is cute when he’s worried. He wants to kiss away that look of anger (angry, of _course_ Kurogane still looks _angry_ ; he’s probably the only person alive capable of looking furious with their boyfriend while he’s bleeding out).

Fai wants to do a lot of things. “Warnings usually come with enough time to _prepare_ ,” he mutters instead of doing any of them.

“Sorry.” Yukito doesn’t _sound_ apologetic. He vanishes and returns with a cup full of a strange dark liquid. “Drink this. It will make you feel better.” His touch is firm at Fai’s back as he wraps an arm around him to help him sit up. Fai doesn’t want to let go of Kurogane’s hand (what if he _leaves_?), but he has no choice. He releases it reluctantly and grabs the cup instead. The liquid inside _burns_ as he chokes it down with a shudder, tastes like fire on his tongue and in his throat. It takes all of Fai’s remaining strength not to spit it out. He groans as Yukito eases him carefully down again, eyes squeezed tightly shut against the spinning in his head and the burning in his throat.

Kurogane’s hand finds Fai’s again.

He didn’t leave.

Everything stills except the deafening beating of Fai’s heart. Kurogane doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, and Yukito is silent. Fai doesn’t know why Yukito has stopped; he doesn’t know why _no one_ is doing anything. He mutters something nearly unintelligible about how Yukito is obviously _trying_ to kill him with that medicine and is doing a very good job of it too. When no one responds, he forces his eyes open. He can’t focus on Yukito’s face; the room is swimming into a dizzying kaleidoscope behind him. Fai drags his gaze to Kurogane instead to ground himself in the crimson of Kurogane’s narrowed eyes.

“Giving up on me already?” Fai asks quietly. The pain has begun to lessen, leaving an odd sensation of weightlessness. He doesn’t know who the question is for, but Yukito is the one who responds.

“I’m waiting for the medicine to take effect,” Yukito says softly. “I’m not giving up. Don’t worry.”

“Not sure I can do that with a knife in my chest,” Fai manages to joke. Kurogane’s brows furrow deeper. It would be impossible for Fai _not_ to worry with the only person currently keeping him rooted in reality staring at him like he just learned someone killed his puppy.

Fai takes too deep a breath, and the burning in his chest races back toward agony. The silence of the room sounds like screaming. Fai is shaking; the small spasms pull pain from his bones, and Kurogane’s fingers tighten on his. Worse than the pain is the look on Kurogane’s face. Even though it’s far from the sheer panic that would be on Fai’s if their roles were reversed, Fai speaks Kurogane’s language now and can translate the apparent anger to what it truly means.

Kurogane is terrified.

That realization hurts worse than any wound. Fai swallows hard. “I’m sorry, Kuro-tan.” His vision blurs. He can’t see Kurogane well enough to see his response, but he hears it in his words.

“ _Don’t_. Just shut up.”

Fai smiles even as his throat knots up. “If I die—”

“You _won’t_.”

“If I _do_ ,” Fai insists, “I needed you to know that. I didn’t want it left unsaid. I didn’t want that regret. I didn’t mean what I said before. You were right. I’m sorry.”

Kurogane doesn’t say that he knows Fai didn’t mean it, nor does he say that he didn’t mean what _he_ said either. He doesn’t have to. Even if the evidence weren’t written clearly in his painfully tight grip on Fai’s hands and in his eyes, the only part of him Fai can still see with any clarity, Kurogane wouldn’t have to say it. He doesn’t need to because he’s said it with his actions time and time again. He sacrificed his future and his freedom to keep Fai alive and tied himself forever to a man who _hated_ him. He gave up his arm and nearly his _life_ so Fai could leave Celes with him. Both of their insults were lies wrought by anger.

Kurogane knows. Fai does too.

“I didn’t want you to hate me for it,” Fai adds softly, more breath than speech. “I’ve _never_ wanted you to hate me.”

“I don’t.” Kurogane is quiet. “I never did.”

Fai opens his mouth to respond (he doesn’t know with what: thank you, I love you, goodbye?), but all he can get out is “I—” before his mind skitters off the track and Kurogane’s eyes go as fuzzy as the rest of his face. Fai blinks hard to try to draw them back into focus, but he can’t. He can’t pull his mind back either. His head feels as if it has been filled with fog. He opens his eyes wider as he goes all but blind. His breath catches on the knife in his chest, and he tries to swallow down air to make his lungs remember the taste. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t stop _shaking_ , can’t—

“What’s wrong?” Kurogane’s voice breaks through, but even it isn’t enough to pull him back.

“I don’t know,” Fai _thinks_ he says. His tongue is numb in his mouth; it feels like it doesn’t belong to him. “I feel _weird_.”

“It’s the medicine,” Yukito assures him. Fai had forgotten he was there. “It will put you to sleep so I can work.”

Fai’s mind seizes on the word “sleep.” He can’t sleep, he _can’t_ , because Kurogane will leave and he’ll be _alone_ , because if he sleeps now he will sleep _forever_. “I don’t want to,” he breathes with a shudder that racks his entire body. “What if I don’t wake up?”

“You will,” Kurogane says. Fai hears the strained note to Kurogane’s voice. Something about it upsets him, but he can’t remember _why_ it sounds like that. Fai shakes his head but closes his eyes; he couldn’t see anyway. “Go to sleep, idiot.”

Fai’s senses are all dulled. His face has gone numb, his eyes unseeing, but something touches his forehead that he identifies as Kurogane’s lips, infinitely softer than his rough voice. Fai would know them anywhere, even now when he knows nothing else. He’s traced them with his mind and his mouth so many times that the shape of them is forever sealed in his memories.

As even the touch of Kurogane’s lips fades, Fai sleeps.

 


	5. edge of the light

Kurogane doesn’t let go of Fai’s hand even after Fai’s fingers go limp in his grasp.

Fai’s face is slack and expressionless. Kurogane knows he should be relieved by the stark pain vanishing from his lips, but it’s unnerving to see Fai’s face so blank. His skin is even paler than usual; hollow circles hang dark beneath his eyes. Yukito had called it medicine, had called it sleep, but Kurogane has seen Fai sleep many times and he has never looked like _this_. Fai doesn’t look calm; he looks _empty_. He looks like a doll. He looks—

Kurogane cuts the thought short before it can even form itself fully. He watches as Fai’s breathing evens out now that he’s no longer struggling through panic and pain. It still comes short and shallow, but the agony behind it is gone. Kurogane makes an active decision to focus on that rather than the blankness of Fai’s face.

Yukito’s touch is caring when he sets his fingers lightly atop Kurogane’s hand. “You can go now,” he murmurs as if he’s relieving Kurogane from a watchman’s duty.

“No,” Kurogane snaps. He wants to punch that look of concern from the healer’s face.

Most people balk immediately at Kurogane’s anger, but Yukito simply draws his hand back slowly. “He can’t feel you,” Yukito says slowly. “He doesn’t even know you’re there. He won’t know you’re gone either.”

“I don’t _care_.”

Kurogane isn’t about to leave, not with Fai unconscious and looking all but dead. He was _never_ going to. He hadn’t been planning on _abandoning_ Fai earlier when the mage reached out for him so desperately. He was only going to check on Syaoran, to make sure the kid was okay, and to talk to Saiki and tell him where they left Takahiro. Kurogane had planned on disappearing only for the briefest of moments. He thought that would be easier; it would let Yukito do whatever he needed to do without Kurogane’s interference. It never even occurred to him that Fai would think he was going to leave him to bleed to death alone just because they had had a stupid fight.

Fai’s desperation forced him to stop. Kurogane’s worry forced him to stay.

“Kurogane-san,” Yukito says. “What _happened_? Did you stop Nakamura?”

Kurogane closes his eyes.

* * *

 

“Go,” Fai orders when Kurogane steps closer to him. Kurogane’s eyes flick to the knife sticking out of Fai’s chest, to where his shirt is already soaked through with blood. “Follow the light before he gets too far away to track.” Fai’s voice is harsh enough that Syaoran freezes and looks up at Kurogane in confusion and worry, but Kurogane knows that pain and desperation are what harden Fai’s tone, not anger. “I’m fine, just _go_!”

 _Liar_.

Kurogane doesn’t want to go. Fai’s trembling fingers are failing to stem the flow of blood; Kurogane wants to get him to safety before he bleeds to death. But stopping Takahiro is his mission, and Kurogane never leaves a mission half-finished. If he were to give up on it now, then Fai’s injuries would have been for _nothing_. Kurogane drags his gaze away from the metal embedded in Fai’s chest. When their eyes meet, understanding flashes between them.

Kurogane will do what must be done, and Fai will try not to die.

Kurogane turns away with a growl and takes off at a sprint, Syaoran quick on his heels. They don’t speak; they just run. They follow the twisting motion of the trail of light from Fai’s spell, ducking under branches and darting around vines. Takahiro may have better knowledge of the jungle, but Kurogane has rage to fuel him, so hot that it boils his blood in his veins, and it doesn’t take long before Takahiro himself comes into view.

Takahiro glances over his shoulder as Syaoran and Kurogane draw closer. He flings a knife behind him, and Kurogane grits his teeth as he knocks it away. Part of him thinks he should have been able to stop it that easily the first time. The rest of him thinks nothing at all as he goes single-minded and battle-focused. Takahiro bursts into a clearing and skids to a stop, prepared to make his stand here.

Kurogane will make sure it’s his last.

Kurogane breaks through the trees and collides with Takahiro, slamming heavily down on him. Takahiro twists away only to be met with Syaoran, but he doesn’t fall. He slashes at Kurogane and Syaoran alike, and when he catches Syaoran’s cheek with one of his blades, he laughs, the sound hollow. “Best be careful, kid,” he says breathlessly. “Fai isn’t here to save you this time.”

“That’s because you _killed_ him,” Syaoran growls. He kicks up at Takahiro and knocks him back. “Fai-san is dead because of _you_.”

Takahiro falters, and Kurogane does too.

Fai isn’t dead. He’s hurt— _badly_ —but he isn’t _dead_. He isn’t _going_ to die; Kurogane will make sure of that somehow. Maybe Syaoran misspoke, or maybe he _thinks_ Fai is dead. But as Takahiro falls back, eyes going wide, and Syaoran bears down on him, Kurogane realizes the truth.

The kid is bluffing.

It’s a bad bluff. Syaoran is believable— _too_ believable. It’s the very definition of tempting fate, and Kurogane won’t play along with the ruse. Takahiro looks at him questioningly, almost hopefully, as if Kurogane will tell him Syaoran is lying and Fai is alive. Kurogane doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. His anger does it for him.

“He—” Takahiro catches Kurogane’s sword on his blade and stumbles back. “I didn’t—I wasn’t aiming at _him_.”

“No.” Kurogane’s voice is cold. “You were aiming at the _kid_.”

Kurogane slashes at Takahiro. Takahiro can barely get his blades up in time to block him; in doing so he fails to block _Syaoran_. Hien slices through his thigh, and Takahiro trips backwards and lands on his back, one of his knives clattering away uselessly. He rolls away as Kurogane slams his sword down, nearly taking off Takahiro’s arm. Takahiro grabs at his belt. His hand closes around the blade that contains Sakura’s feather.

Takahiro’s eyes harden. “It should have been _you_.”

Takahiro is on his feet in an instant. He stabs at Kurogane hard enough to knock him away and then does the same to Syaoran. Kurogane attacks again, but Takahiro fends him off. Kurogane falls back to regroup. Syaoran kicks up and slices down, and Takahiro bashes Syaoran’s stomach with the pommel of the blade.

Syaoran gasps as the blow connects solidly with his broken ribs. He falls to his knees. Takahiro stands over him.

Kurogane isn’t quick enough.

He won’t make it in time. A million different options, a million different scenarios, flash through his head in .2 seconds. All of them end with Syaoran being dead. Time grinds near to a halt as Kurogane’s senses blur everything into slow motion, but as slow as it is, time is still moving. Takahiro grits his teeth, draws back the blade, and—

Mokona swallows it.

Kurogane freezes. Syaoran blinks. Takahiro stares.

Then his expression shifts to utter fury. He snarls, and Mokona shrieks as he grabs her before she can get away. “Give it _back_!” he yells, squeezing her tightly.

Mokona squirms, but she can’t escape. “Kurogane!” she shouts instead, and she opens her mouth wide.

Kurogane reacts without thinking. He lifts his free hand, and when Mokona spits the knife at him, he catches it. He lunges forward. By the time Takahiro has registered what’s happening, the blade is pressed to his throat.

“Let the manjû go,” Kurogane growls. Takahiro hesitates, Mokona still squeaking and struggling in his grip. His eyes dart down to his belt, but Kurogane presses the blade against him hard enough that a thin line of blood trails down his neck. “ _Now_.”

Takahiro lets Mokona go.

Mokona hops away with a relieved “pwah” and jumps onto Syaoran’s shoulder as he rises unsteadily to his feet. He winces as the motion tugs at his bruised and swollen ribs, but he walks over to Kurogane’s side and pulls the last of Takahiro’s knives from his belt. Takahiro, standing motionless with his hands raised, doesn’t watch Syaoran do it. He gazes evenly at Kurogane instead.

“So,” Takahiro says quietly, “Fai died then. I had hoped he wouldn’t.” His smile is sad, but his eyes are taunting. “I guess it had to happen. They say the good die young, after all.” He sighs and tilts his head. “Wonder what that makes us.”

“If the good die young, it’s because they’re martyrs.” Kurogane’s voice is low. “I’m not interested in some sort of self-sacrificing bullshit.”

“I’m not either. I guess Fai was.”

Kurogane doesn’t respond. He thinks he understands now why Takahiro didn’t want Saiki to use his and Aoi’s name. He grits his teeth, and Takahiro’s eyes turn delighted.

“I wonder,” Takahiro muses, “what Fai’s last thoughts were. I wonder if they were of you—or of me, maybe.” He laughs. “Wouldn’t _that_ be ironic?”

“Shut up,” Kurogane growls.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Takahiro continues. “I’m just curious. I wonder if he felt like you failed him.”

“Shut _up_!” Kurogane flings the knife at the ground and grabs Takahiro’s collar instead, slamming him hard up against a tree. Takahiro gasps as the air is knocked out of him, but then he laughs, the sound quiet and rasping.

“Such a temper.” Takahiro lifts his hand slowly and sets it on the back of Kurogane’s. “Are you going to kill me, ‘ _Kuro-tan_ ’?”

The nickname sinks into Kurogane’s chest far deeper than any blade ever could.

Takahiro’s eyes are goading, and his smile doesn’t reach them. Kurogane wants to make him pay, wants to break every bone in his body, wants to _destroy_ him. He’s killed people for far less, and Takahiro is deserving of any punishment Kurogane is capable of giving. Kurogane’s blood feels like it’s on fire. His grip tightens on Takahiro’s shirt.

“No.”

Kurogane wants to. Takahiro would deserve it. But he won’t. It’s not worth it. It’s time to put an _end_ to the bloodshed. The cycle of revenge ends here.

Fai was wrong when he said Kurogane hadn’t changed.

Takahiro blinks at Kurogane. Then he scowls. “ _Coward_.”

Kurogane punches the tree next to Takahiro’s head, the sound loud like a gunshot by his ear. “ _You_ don’t get to call _anyone_ that,” he growls as Takahiro flinches. “Setting a damn bomb off to kill innocent people… There’s _nothing_ more cowardly than that.”

“Not even refusing to avenge someone?” Takahiro asks quietly.

“No,” Kurogane says simply, “because he’s not dead, asshole.”

Takahiro’s eyes go wide. “Wh—” he starts, but that’s all he can say before Kurogane knocks him unconscious.

Kurogane feels Syaoran’s gaze on his back as he steps away to allow Takahiro’s body to crumple to the ground. He ignores it and stalks over to the edge of the clearing, slicing down vines and tossing a handful to Syaoran. “Help me tie him up,” he orders, and Syaoran scrambles to help.

“Kurogane-san,” Syaoran says as Kurogane props Takahiro’s tied, unconscious body against the tree. “Are we leaving him here…?”

“You can’t carry him.” Kurogane dusts off his hands and looks down into Syaoran’s worried face. “And _I’m_ going to have to carry the idiot who got himself _stabbed_. Now come on. Let’s go before the mage _does_ get himself killed.”

* * *

 

Kurogane opens his eyes.

“We stopped him,” he tells Yukito quietly. No sense in saying anything more.

Yukito sighs, but he doesn’t press. He disappears and returns with a couple of buckets of warm water and rags. He thrusts one of each at Kurogane’s chest, and Kurogane drops Fai’s hand to take them automatically. “If you’re going to stay, you can help,” Yukito says without looking at him as he begins to wipe the blood from Fai’s body with none of the gentleness that seems ever-present in his soft voice.

Kurogane isn’t gentle either. There’s too much blood— _shit_ , _way_ too much blood—for him to be. He jumps at the chance to help, at the chance to do _anything_ besides sit by uselessly. He avoids the knife that is still buried in Fai’s chest with both his hands and his eyes. Kurogane is good at inflicting wounds, not fixing them; let the healer deal with that instead.

Kurogane can’t help but wince when Yukito yanks out the blade in one swift motion with no hesitation. The gash it leaves fills quickly with blood but not before Kurogane catches a flash of white—tendon, bone, he doesn’t know. The knife went in even deeper than he had thought; it’s a solid three inches and was driven in nearly to the hilt. Yukito dabs some sort of liquid onto the wound. It looks like it should _hurt_ to have someone touching the raw edges, but Fai doesn’t so much as stir. Not even his breathing changes pace. Kurogane’s chest burns in a mirrored response in Fai’s stead.

“Fai-san can’t feel it,” Yukito tells Kurogane as he wipes away fresh blood that gradually stops flowing. Kurogane blinks and looks down at the rag in his hands; he hadn’t realized he had stopped moving. “It will be some time before he can feel anything.” Yukito doesn’t pause as he cleans the last bit of blood from the injury. He tosses down the cloth and grabs a needle and thread instead, and Kurogane lets his cloth and bucket both clatter to the floor, numb to how the water spills around his feet. “He’ll be out for some time.”

“When will he…?” Kurogane trails off.

“I don’t know,” Yukito admits with a small shake of his head. He goes silent for a moment, focused, and Kurogane can’t drag his eyes away as Yukito stabs the needle through Fai’s skin with practiced ease. “The medicine will wear off before too long, but I doubt he’ll wake up for quite a while. It could be hours. Could be days.”

“He _will_ wake up though,” Kurogane says, equal parts statement and question.

Yukito doesn’t respond. Kurogane chooses to believe he didn’t hear him.

“What about you?” Yukito asks instead as he ties the final knot in the stitches. He moves on to Fai’s hand, threading the needle through Fai’s palm and drawing the corners of the wound together as he pulls the string taut. “You were hurt too.”

“I’m fine,” Kurogane says without thinking, and compared to Fai, he is. He had forgotten he was injured at all.

Yukito finishes working on Fai’s hand and nods at the bloodstain on Kurogane’s side. “You’re not. Come here.”

Kurogane reluctantly rises and goes to Yukito’s side, tugging up his shirt and pant leg to allow Yukito access to his wounds. He pays the healer little mind as his injuries are cleaned and stitched up. He doesn’t watch him; his gaze is fixed on the stuttered rise and fall of Fai’s chest. These are nothing but more injuries to him, another dozen scars to add to the collection.

“How is he?” asks a quiet voice from the doorway. Kurogane glances up to see Touya standing there. “I heard he was hurt.” Touya’s gaze seeks out Yukito and finds him crouched by Kurogane’s side. “You are too, I see.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Kurogane repeats. “How’s the kid?”

“He’s sleeping,” Touya says, walking closer. “He passed out pretty much as soon as he told Saiki-dono what happened. That weird little pet of yours did too.”

Kurogane gives a noncommittal grunt. Touya leans over him to look down at Fai. Then he frowns. “I know you guys are from another world and all,” he starts slowly, “but… are his lips _normally_ that color?”

Kurogane glances down to see that the strain behind Fai’s breathing has worsened. He still takes small, shallow breaths that barely lift his chest, but now he sucks in air through barely parted lips that have gone pale, almost blue, on the edges. Kurogane shakes his head mutely.

Yukito looks down, and his eyes go wide. He shoves Touya and Kurogane both out of the way and grabs Fai’s fingers, his face growing drawn at something he sees. “I think his lung collapsed,” he says breathlessly.

Kurogane stares blankly at him. “It _what_?”

“This—this happens sometimes—” Yukito is paying little attention to Kurogane. He’s scrambling for something, hands skipping over his tools.

“What the hell do you mean ‘this happens sometimes’?”

“Too much pressure on the lung. I need to—” Yukito finds what he was looking for—a knife.

Kurogane hears flesh tearing. He sees Yukito _stab_ Fai again through his side.

Kurogane lunges forward in a heartbeat—maybe _less_ than a heartbeat—to grab Yukito’s narrow wrist and wrench it away at an angle that should hurt. “What the _hell_?” he growls loudly. He may not know much about medicine, but he does know that healers aren’t supposed to _stab_ their patients.

Motion catches the edge of his vision. Kurogane is too slow to react before Touya knocks him backwards, smacking his bruising hold from Yukito’s arm. Kurogane tenses, prepared to attack Yukito and Touya alike if he has to. “What the hell are you _doing_?” he asks, voice low.

“I have to relieve the pressure,” Yukito explains, voice pained. Kurogane’s eyes dart from Yukito to Fai to Touya, who hovers protectively over Yukito. “I told you. He can’t feel it. I’m not hurting him, I promise. This is the only way, Kurogane-san.”

Kurogane casts another glance at Fai. Fai’s skin is growing paler, his breath coming more desperate, and all Kurogane can do is stand back and nod.

Kurogane doesn’t reach for Yukito again. He doesn’t try to stop him, even though every muscle in his body screams at him to do _something_ when Yukito draws back the knife and slips something else into the small cut—some kind of tube, from the looks of it. Kurogane tears his eyes away from Yukito to Fai’s face. The idiot mage is still lying unconscious, no change to his expression, even with what must have been a new burst of pain. Fai doesn’t react at _all_. There’s no frown, no fluttering of his eyelids, no twitch of his fingertips.

Yukito was right; Fai really is utterly unresponsive, as if he’s—

 _No_.

Kurogane will _not_ allow himself to finish that thought, because it’s not true and isn’t _going_ to be true. Fai will be fine. He always has been. He always _will_ be. Kurogane forces himself to ignore the voice in the back of his head that tells him that the past may not be predictive of the future.

Fai will run out of chances one day and take a risk he cannot return from.

Today is not that day. It _can’t_ be. Kurogane shoves the useless thoughts from his mind and glances back at Yukito. “Help me lift him,” Yukito orders, and even though Touya is closer, Kurogane knows Yukito is talking to _him_.

Fai’s body is limp when Kurogane’s arms go around him; his head bumps listlessly against Kurogane’s bicep. Yukito covers the smaller wounds with some kind of salve before unfurling gauze bandages over Fai’s chest. The tube-like thing in Fai’s side is still there, and Kurogane doesn’t understand why but doesn’t ask either. He _has_ to trust that Yukito knows what he’s doing, no matter how difficult it may be.

Kurogane starts to lay Fai back once Yukito draws his hands back, but Yukito stops him. “No,” Yukito says. Kurogane glances up at him. “I’m finished. We should get him into a bed so he can rest.”

“Is it really safe to move him?” Kurogane asks, and Yukito smiles.

“I wouldn’t tell you to if it weren’t.”

Kurogane looks at Yukito for another few seconds before glancing back down at Fai, his body still limp in his grasp. Carefully, impossibly carefully, Kurogane lifts him to his chest. He’s never touched anything with as much care as when he touches Fai. Fai doesn’t react, not to his touch, not to the movement, not the way Kurogane’s breathing goes unsteady at his lack of reaction. It’s the medicine, Kurogane reminds himself as he tucks Fai to his chest. Just the medicine.

It’s difficult to carry Fai like this. Kurogane has to hold him close, closer than ever before, because Fai isn’t automatically shifting toward him like a plant toward the sun. Fai is limp in his arms, nothing but deadweight. Kurogane is so used to Fai turning in against him when they touch that it takes several seconds for him to realize Fai isn’t going to.

Has Fai always been this light? This _small_?

Kurogane can carry Fai with one arm. He _had_ to, back in Tokyo—but he doesn’t now. He can’t shake the fear that he might hurt him worse, even with the knife gone and Yukito insisting that Fai feels no pain. Fai is slack in his arms, and Kurogane recalls that even after having his eye ripped out, Fai still leaned into his embrace despite his hatred of Kurogane at that moment.

Fai doesn’t hate Kurogane right now. Perhaps this would be easier if he did. Perhaps if Fai hated him, Kurogane wouldn’t have this aching, hollow sensation in his chest where he cradles Fai carefully against him.

Kurogane follows Touya and Yukito down the dark, winding corridors of the palace. Syaoran doesn’t come out of wherever Touya hid him away. Neither does Mokona. A small blessing, that. Fai didn’t want them to see him before, when he was bloody and in agony but at least conscious. It would be worse for them to see him like this, looking—

Kurogane silences his thoughts as they approach the set of rooms assigned to them. It takes Kurogane a moment to realize they’re expecting him to lay Fai down in _Fai’s_ room rather than Kurogane’s, the room that doesn’t feel like it should be his because it is equally Fai’s. Kurogane feels eyes on him as he carefully lays Fai in the bed. He positions Fai’s arms at his side and draws the covers up over him, even though he doesn’t know why he bothers. Fai’s face is still impassive. If he can’t feel pain, Kurogane has no reason to believe he can feel cold either, but Kurogane can’t stand the sight of Fai covered in those bandages, blond hair fanning out around him.

“You should rest,” Yukito murmurs as Kurogane glances up at him. He doesn’t try to tell Kurogane to leave again. “I’ve done all I can do. It’s up to him now.”

“Will he be okay?” Kurogane asks bluntly. He doesn’t mean to—doesn’t want to.

He _has_ to know.

Yukito meets his gaze evenly. Kurogane suspects the steadiness is meant to be reassuring, but it isn’t. The healer’s eyes are soft and sad, and the turn of his lips is resigned. The heavy-boned way he leans against Touya and the concern on Touya’s face as his arm goes around Yukito’s shoulders as if they fit together perfectly—and they _do_ —forces Kurogane to look away. “I don’t know,” Yukito admits. The answer grinds Kurogane’s teeth; it isn’t the one he wanted to hear. “If he makes it through the next 24 hours, then yes. He should be fine. If not…”

Kurogane doesn’t need Yukito to finish that thought.

If Fai doesn’t make it through the next 24 hours… then he won’t have made it.

Fai will be dead.

Touya is watching him. Kurogane feels his eyes on his gritted teeth. Yukito is quiet, eyes closed as he leans heavily against Touya in sheer exhaustion. Kurogane doesn’t know why they haven’t left yet—waiting for a response, maybe. He takes a seat next to Fai and fixes them with an exhausted stare, one he would like to urge into a glare but can’t seem to convince to do so. “Then I’ll rest _then_.”

Yukito sighs and reopens his eyes. Kurogane thinks he was expecting that reply. “You know where we are,” Yukito murmurs. “Come get me if anything changes.”

Kurogane gives a grunt of acknowledgment. He looks only at Fai’s expressionless face, not at Touya or Yukito. He doesn’t want to see them looking happy together—happy and _safe_. It’s too painful; that much he _can_ admit. They leave after a few more moments, a fact Kurogane only knows by the sound of their footsteps fading.

It’s quiet.

Without Touya and Yukito, the silence hangs heavy in the air. Kurogane breathes silently as per his training, so the sound of Fai’s small, strangled gasps is the only thing that breaks up the stillness. Each halting breath seems like a struggle. Fai’s breathing is uneven, no rhythm to it at all, and each time an exhale goes too long Kurogane has the awful sense that Fai will never take a breath again—the sense that Fai will never wake _up_ again.

Kurogane won’t allow himself to think about what will happen if Fai doesn’t wake up.

He won’t.

He _can’t_.

(What if…?)

 _Stop_.

(What if Fai doesn’t wake up?)

Kurogane won’t think about that.

He _refuses_ to think about that. He ignores the question the same way he ignores Fai’s teasing, but it still lingers in his head, _impossible_ to ignore completely, just like he could never fully ignore Fai’s poking and prodding. Kurogane begrudgingly accepts the question into his head. It makes him turn and stalk off to the wall, his fist connecting with the wood hard enough to splinter it. He rationalizes as he returns to Fai’s side, sitting with a quiet, frustrated growl. Fai will not die. He has been so near to death so many times, and he’s always survived. He will this time too (what if he doesn’t?).

The medicine must be starting to wear off. Fai looks no closer to waking up than before, his body clearly too exhausted for that, but his lips twitch down in pain, his brows think about knitting together, and the next breath he gives is shaky and whimpering. Kurogane frowns at the sound. He reaches forward and brushes a loose strand of hair from in front of Fai’s closed eyes. The movement is unconscious; there’s no way Fai can feel either the hair on his face or the touch of Kurogane’s hand. Fai normally leans into Kurogane’s touch, the same way he always leans into his embrace. Even the slightest contact would usually cause Fai to turn towards him, to press into him as if he can never be close enough to Kurogane.

This time, Fai doesn’t so much as stir.

Kurogane withdraws his hand and swallows hard past the unexpected knot he finds in his throat. Fai is small, always so _small_ , swamped entirely by the sheets on the bed. Kurogane is not. Kurogane is strong. He always has been. Fai, though, starved for longer than Kurogane has even been alive, freezing to death, _starving_ to death, without ever actually being able to die, separated from the only person in his life who loved him. Even after he was rescued, Fai didn’t have to be strong, at least not physically. Ashura, for all of his wrongdoings, did his best to keep Fai safe. Fai may have hated that he could only do magic that caused others harm, but his magic allowed him to go without fighting. He fought on their journey together—both with and against Kurogane—but even as a vampire, Fai was small. Fai is stronger now, physically and mentally, but—

He is still so fucking _small_.

“I’m going to kill you if you die on me, you bastard,” Kurogane mutters, voice strained as it drags past the knot that threatens to choke him. Kurogane knows full well Fai can’t hear him, but he still says it. It will be Fai’s _own_ fault if he dies. Kurogane won’t feel guilty. They made the right choice; they just went the wrong way about doing so. They captured the bastard that did all of this, they stopped him from taking any more lives, and they got the princess’s feather back.

It _had_ to happen this way. Everything worked out as best it could.

(Except?)

Except—

Except that it _didn’t_ , and if Fai _dies_ here, it will have been the worst mistake of Kurogane’s life.

Kurogane is not one for undue self-blame, but he recognizes fault when it falls on him. Fai never wanted to go after Takahiro; he only did because Kurogane forced him to, both of them knowing that Fai would never sit idly by while Syaoran and Kurogane fought.

Kurogane will be responsible for this. He is already responsible for Fai’s current pain, both physical and emotional, for forcing Fai into making a decision he didn’t want to make. It will be _Kurogane’s_ fault if he loses Fai now. He will never have the chance to apologize for saying things he never even meant at all. Kurogane thought Fai knew he was lying, _surely_ he did, but if he didn’t, if Fai _believed_ him…

When they fought, Kurogane told the mage he wouldn’t care if he died, but if he dies, if Fai _dies_ , Kurogane will be—

A tear falls onto Fai’s arm.

Kurogane’s hand goes to his face, coming away wet from his cheeks. He can’t be crying; it makes no sense. He hasn’t cried since his parents died all those years ago; he has no reason to _now_. He had felt a thickness in his throat and a rising tension in his chest, but this isn’t—

Kurogane’s shoulders hitch and he shoves his hand over his nose and mouth to muffle the sob that comes to him unbidden. This is _pointless_ ; if he’s going to waste tears, let it be _after_ Fai dies (don’t let him _die_ ), not while he’s still breathing (he _has_ to keep breathing), not while there’s no reason for this preemptive grief when Fai may still survive ( _please_ let him survive). This is pointless, and it hurts—why the _hell_ does it hurt so much? Kurogane thought crying was supposed to make you feel better; what would be the reason for it otherwise? But his head hurts and his chest hurts and his hand hurts from clinging too tightly to Fai’s. It _hurts_.

Kurogane grits his teeth, drops his fingers from his mouth, and takes Fai’s unfeeling hand in both of his as he drags in a ragged breath. Fai may be the one who was stabbed, but Kurogane’s throat and chest burn as he breathes. Kurogane said once, long ago, that Syaoran needed to become strong enough that he wouldn’t be the one crying in the end; Fai told him there was a certain strength in being able to cry when necessary. Maybe Fai was right, but this doesn’t feel like strength. The tears that Kurogane can’t hold back no matter how strong he may be—couldn’t hold back if he had all the strength in the world—spill hot over Fai’s fingers, cold and limp as he presses them to his lips.

“ _Fai_ ,” Kurogane breathes on a shaky exhale, his breath itself choking him as if it’s getting caught on his ribs, the name painful as it leaves his lips for the second time that day. “Fai, you have to—” Kurogane breaks off with a shudder and a sharp gasp. His mind is racing toward a cliff; he has the dizzying sensation of falling. “You _have_ to wake up.”

Kurogane doesn’t know why he says it. The words taste like pain, taste like breaking, bitter on his tongue and suffocating in his throat. Fai can’t hear him. Kurogane knows that. There’s no point in him talking—there’s no point to _any_ of this, no point at _all_ , not to the talking, not to the tears, not to the way he’s clutching Fai’s hand so tightly he knows Fai would be telling him to stop if he were able to feel it—but Kurogane can’t seem to silence the voice in his head that’s telling him Fai will never be able to hear him _again_.

“Please.” Kurogane can’t remember the last time the word passed his lips, its taste strange and foreign, but it seems fitting now “Please, I—” He squeezes his eyes tightly shut as his voice fails him momentarily. “I don’t want to do this without you.”

Do _what_? Kurogane doesn’t know. _This_. Everything, from fighting, to searching for the princess’s feathers, to traveling with the kid, to years in the future when the fighting and searching and traveling should be finished and Kurogane can be home in Nihon. He doesn’t want to be home without Fai; it wouldn’t _feel_ like home without him.

Fai’s fingers twitch in Kurogane’s grasp, and somehow, that small movement is almost worse than the stillness. It feels like muscle memory, nothing more than electricity sparking contraction. There’s nothing even nearing consciousness in the motion.

Fai would mock him relentlessly if he could see him now, Kurogane knows. He would laugh in that light, bell-like way of his, one corner of his mouth slightly higher than the other. He would kiss Kurogane’s frown and call him some idiotic nickname. He would smile in that way that is so different from the false smile he wore when they first met, and Kurogane would be proud, even though he would never _admit_ it, that Fai’s true smile, so broad and uninhibited and _free_ , is due largely to him.

“Kurogane-san?”

Kurogane doesn’t immediately look up, even as his eyes fly open. His face flushes in a rush of anger—not at Syaoran, who he senses standing in the doorway, but at himself. Not matter how upset he was, Syaoran should _never_ have been able to sneak up on him. His presence is both unexpected and troubling. Fai had said he didn’t want Syaoran to see him like that; Kurogane doesn’t want Syaoran to see _him_ like this either, not with tears still burning hot on his cheeks as he grips Fai’s hand as if both of their lives depend on it.

“Are you—” Syaoran begins falteringly, taking a tentative step forward. His brows are drawn together in concern, and as his gaze travels from where Kurogane’s hands are still holding Fai’s to his face, Syaoran’s eyes go wide and scared. Even in the dim lamplight, Kurogane has no doubt Syaoran can see the glint of tears on his skin. Syaoran takes another step and stammers, “Is—is Fai-san—”

“Stop,” Kurogane growls, voice low. Syaoran freezes; still, he looks hesitatingly at Fai like he wants to keep going. Kurogane drops Fai’s hand. He scrubs at his face with the flat of his palm as he rises, crossing the room to stand in front of Syaoran, arms folded. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Syaoran takes a step back and looks up at him. “Is Fai-san okay?” he asks quietly. “…are _you_ okay?”

Kurogane doesn’t respond immediately. _He_ isn’t the one who is fighting for his life. Syaoran shouldn’t be wasting concern on _him_. Only Syaoran would look at two people, one of whom may be dying while the other is nowhere near death, and worry about _both_ of them. Something in the back of Kurogane’s mind suggests that Syaoran may be concerned about more than Kurogane’s injured leg.

“I thought you were resting,” Kurogane says at last.

Syaoran shakes his head. “I was worried. I wanted to see Fai-san.”

“You’ve seen him,” Kurogane says flatly. “Now go rest. It’s late. You can’t do anything here anyway.”

“But…” Syaoran shifts from one foot to the other. He leans around Kurogane to glance at where Fai lies motionless in bed before his gaze returns, questioning, to Kurogane’s face. “…you can’t do anything either.”

 _Oh_.

Syaoran is speaking from a place of concern, not malice. Kurogane still feels the words hit him like a punch to the gut.

They knock the air out of him, and the next breath he takes is sharp enough that Syaoran averts his gaze and takes another step back. “That doesn’t _matter_ ,” Kurogane growls. He was never under the delusion that he could actually _do_ anything for Fai like this. It’s up to the mage if he’s going to make it through this or not. Kurogane is painfully aware that he can do _nothing_.

He can do nothing at all.

No matter how much strength Kurogane may have, no matter how many times he has saved Fai—from Ashura, from the other Syaoran, from _himself_ —one of these days it will not be enough. One of these days, be it today, tomorrow, or years from now, Fai is going to die, and Kurogane will be unable to do anything but sit there helplessly. No amount of strength can keep a person tethered to this realm forever. Kurogane accepted that long ago.

He still doesn’t want to admit that one day he will lose Fai.

Kurogane closes his eyes. Another damned tear runs down his cheek as he does so, following the path laid by the ones that came before, flowing easily now that the dam has broken. He doesn’t bother trying to brush it away so Syaoran doesn’t see. Syaoran isn’t so oblivious as to miss the telling catch to his breathing.

“Kurogane-san.” Syaoran’s voice is soft and pained, and when Kurogane opens his eyes, Syaoran is staring at the floor. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” It never even occurred to Kurogane to be angry with Syaoran. What reason would he have for that? He rests a hand on Syaoran’s head as he half-crouches to eye-level with the kid, any previous pain forgotten. “Of course not.”

Syaoran bites his lower lip and doesn’t look up. “But Fai-san was hurt protecting me.”

Kurogane should have known Syaoran would blame himself for Fai’s current state. “He knew what he was doing,” Kurogane says. “I’ve told you before that I’ll cut down anyone who hurts you. The mage may not have said it, but the same goes for him. If he hadn’t acted, then you wouldn’t be feeling guilty because you’d be dead.”

“But if _Fai-san_ dies, then—”

“He won’t,” Kurogane interrupts. He doesn’t know if he believes it; he hopes Syaoran does. “That idiot is too stubborn to die.”

“But—”

Kurogane gives a short, wordless growl and ruffles Syaoran’s hair with so much force that he nearly knocks him over. “ _Listen_ to me.” Syaoran touches Kurogane’s hand, still on his head, and blinks at him. “If you really want to help the mage, you should get out of here and rest.”

Kurogane is serious. His voice is low, and its easily ever-present threatening tone is tempered. He wants Syaoran to leave for his _own_ sake. Kurogane knows Syaoran by now; he knows that Syaoran, no matter how much bloodshed he may have seen, will always be affected by seeing _more_ , especially when someone he is close to is injured.

Syaoran’s spine stiffens in the way it does when he gets an idea that may be a bad one. Kurogane wonders warily if he is going to have to knock _Syaoran_ unconscious _too_ to keep him away from Fai. If Syaoran tries to go around him, Kurogane will strike him down. He has to. He braces himself to stop him.

Then Syaoran hugs him.

Syaoran wraps his arms around Kurogane to pull him forward as he buries his face against Kurogane’s shoulder. Kurogane is so startled that he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, his arms half-raised to bracket Syaoran’s slight form. Syaoran is small but his embrace is tight, and his face is smothered so completely that Kurogane doesn’t see how he can even _breathe_. When he realizes Syaoran isn’t going to immediately let go, Kurogane slowly sets one hand lightly on the back of Syaoran’s head and the other on his upper back. Kurogane closes his eyes with a long exhale. He doesn’t know which of them this was meant to comfort, but he can’t bring himself to push him away. Syaoran’s heart beats a steady rhythm against his chest, a reminder of what was saved by the price Fai paid. “Come on, kid,” Kurogane says quietly. “You’re okay.”

Syaoran only hugs him more firmly. “You need to be okay too,” he whispers, voice muffled where his mouth is pressed against Kurogane’s shoulder.

Kurogane’s automatic reaction, the one he opens his mouth to give, is to say that he’s _fine_ and Syaoran shouldn’t waste his time worrying about him. But it would be a lie. In the back of his head, Kurogane hears Fai scolding him, telling him that he shouldn’t hide such things from people, that concealing his pain will only make people worry more when they learned the truth.

The idiot learned a lot from him, huh—using Kurogane’s own words against him.

“I will be,” Kurogane says at last. The admission is quiet, but it drops heavy from his tongue and leaves him feeling oddly lighter. Syaoran still holds tight to him, so Kurogane pats his back awkwardly. He isn’t used to this—to _any_ of this. “Promise.”

Syaoran finally nods his approval and releases Kurogane. Kurogane loosens his hold but keeps his arms hung gently around Syaoran as Syaoran studies his face, searching, no doubt, for any sign that Kurogane is lying. Finding none, he relaxes and steps out of Kurogane’s arms. “You wouldn’t say anything if you _weren’t_ okay,” he points out.

Kurogane huffs a laugh as he stands. “Yeah,” he admits. “None of us would. And you _won’t_ be okay if you don’t go rest. If the mage were awake, he would tell you the same thing.”

Syaoran knows it, and Kurogane _knows_ he knows it, but still he lingers, gaze on Fai’s unconscious form. “Can I—”

“ _No_ ,” Kurogane says gruffly. “You can see him when he wakes up.”

Syaoran sighs in such a heavy way that Kurogane can see Fai’s influence on him. His expression remains conflicted, even as he returns to the doorway, and he hesitates there to cast one last glance over his shoulder. Kurogane crosses his arms and glares, and Syaoran finally disappears back into the hall. This isn’t the end of that fight; Kurogane could see Syaoran’s intent to sneak back in later in the straight-backed way he carried himself as he left.

Fai is still motionless when Kurogane settles back in by his side. His face is still pale, his breathing still strained, his pulse still thready and fluttery when Kurogane takes his hand once more. He didn’t wake up in the few minutes Kurogane was with Syaoran.

He didn’t die either.

“You have to make it through this,” Kurogane informs Fai. His voice is low and rough, and there’s a hoarse strain to it that he doesn’t recognize, but it no longer hurts. “The kid’s worried about you. He needs you.” Kurogane pauses, and then, seeing no reason _not_ to continue, adds, “I need you too. So you’d better wake up. I’ll never forgive you if you don’t.”

If this were a story, Fai’s fingers would fold around Kurogane’s hand. He would slowly open his eyes, gaze lovingly at Kurogane, and call him an affectionate nickname in a voice even softer than his smile. He would sit up and kiss the dried salt-streaks on Kurogane’s cheeks, and Kurogane would break down in his arms.

But this isn’t a story, so none of those things happen. It wouldn’t suit them anyway.

Instead, Fai remains silent and still, all but for the rasp of his breathing. He remains wounded. He remains _small_.

And Kurogane—silent and still, wounded, and _strong_ , but for this one moment—remains by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title for this chapter taken from "Edge of the Light" by Jordan Critz, aka the song that I have been listening to on repeat for like 4 months now
> 
> edit: WE NOW HAVE FANART FOR THIS CHAPTER!? https://twitter.com/kvroganes/status/1115398958463852545


	6. morning

 

Fai wakes slowly, hazily, as if he’s coming into a dream instead of out of one.

His body is warm, pleasantly so, but his chest… his chest _burns_. He can’t remember _why_ it burns; his memories are fuzzy and fractured. He can’t seem to focus on any one thing. He’s aware only of the burning in his chest and the leaden paralysis in his limbs. When he opens his eyes, he sees first the slatted, wooden boards of a ceiling. He lowers his gaze slowly, fingers that barely register as his own finding the edges of white bandages on his chest. He blinks at them, confused. Was he hurt? He must have been, or he wouldn’t be lying here barely able to move. But what…?

Fai sets his fingers over the bandages and traces their lines to feel for the wound that must lie beneath. He finds it with a sharp gasp of pain, agony coursing through him with such intensity that the white of the gauze goes black for a moment. Shakily, he slips his fingers beneath the bandages. He has to know, has to see what happened—

“Don’t do that.”

Fai jerks his fingers back at the sound of Kurogane’s voice.

He regrets it immediately. The sharp movement sends another dizzying spike of pain through him that leaves him breathless and nauseated. He shuts his eyes with a long, steadying exhale, and when he opens them he sees Kurogane sitting by his side.

“You were hurt pretty bad,” Kurogane continues, reaching out to brush Fai’s bangs from his face with such softness that it takes Fai’s breath away all over again. “You need to leave the bandages on. The healer was clear on that.”

The healer?

Fai closes his eyes against the pain and follows the lines that are struggling to become clear in his head. The healer… Yukito. He forced something bitter down Fai’s throat, some liquid that made him dizzy and sleepy and… Yukito, the drink, Kurogane’s arms around him as Fai nestled in against his chest, but it _hurt_ to do that—it wasn’t _nice_ like it usually is. Kurogane, and Syaoran, his face pale—why was it pale? Syaoran, by his side, face pale, and Mokona, on Syaoran’s shoulder, crying his name. The… The vines, the earth, tangled limbs and suffocation, this _pain_ in his chest, fiercer before, the man with the bombs and the blades—Takahiro, the knife, _Syaoran_ , and he—

He remembers.

Fai is out of breath when he opens his eyes again, just from tracking down the memories. He was _stabbed_ protecting Syaoran. That would explain the bursting star of pain in his chest and the way his lungs still struggle to take in air. It explains Kurogane’s expression, too, when Fai glances back at him: tired and almost wary, like he isn’t entirely positive Fai isn’t going to keel over from his injuries after all. Kurogane looks _exhausted_ , dark circles under his eyes and his face subdued as if he hasn’t slept in over a week. It’s as if even his emotions are slow to rise to the surface in their lethargy. Only one rises to the surface, so out of place on Kurogane’s face that Fai wonders if he’s imagining it.

It’s relief.

The emotion isn’t big. It isn’t painted stark on Kurogane’s skin. It’s muted, pale, everything that Kurogane’s explosive anger is not. But it’s still _there_. It’s still solid, still visible in every small detail of Kurogane’s face. The always-tight hold of his brows has loosened, his shoulders have eased, and best of all, he’s _smiling—_ faintly, tiredly, but honestly. “Welcome back to the world of the living,” he says, and for once, his voice is soft.

“How—” Fai swallows hard at the dryness that closes his throat. “How long was I out?”

“A few days,” Kurogane tells him. “I was starting to wonder if you’d ever wake up. How are you feeling?”

Fai grimaces. “Like I just got stabbed in the chest,” he admits. Shifting slightly, he’s surprised to find pain between his ribs as well. “…why does my side hurt?”

Kurogane’s face darkens; his smile fades. “Your lung collapsed.”

“It—I— _what_?” Fai gathers his wits and tries again. “Did it… _un_ -collapse?”

“Yeah. The healer fixed it.”

Fai doesn’t ask for details. He doesn’t think he wants to know.

“What about—” he starts instead, but Kurogane interrupts him almost immediately.

“The kid is _fine_ ,” Kurogane assures him. “He has a couple of broken ribs and some bruises. He’s just worried about you. He wouldn’t quit trying to sneak in.”

“You kept him out then.”

“Yeah. You wanted me to. Besides, I would have made him leave even if you hadn’t asked me to. The kid isn’t the best at sitting around doing nothing.”

 _Kurogane_ isn’t the best at sitting around doing nothing either. Fai glances over Kurogane’s shoulder, but the walls doesn’t appear to have any new holes in it, and Fai doesn’t _want_ to ponder the meaning of that but can’t help it. The ear-splitting sound of shattered concrete fills his ears, a half-remembered dream from when he was injured in Tokyo. Kurogane had been so furious by Fai almost dying even then that Fai was amazed afterwards that Kurogane hadn’t broken any knuckles punching the wall. They’ve only grown closer since, so if Kurogane didn’t redecorate the room with his fist, then…

He must have left after Fai fell asleep.

It makes sense. Kurogane tried to leave even _before_ Fai passed out. Fai has a vague sensation of warmth, of Kurogane holding his hand even as his thoughts faded into blackness, but he can remember little else. Of _course_ Kurogane left. And that’s _fine_ , Fai tells himself. The thought of Kurogane abandoning him hurts; it makes his chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with his wounds. But he ignores it. It wouldn’t be fair for him to expect Kurogane to stay with him while he was asleep. Fai wouldn’t have known if he was there or not, after all.

He knows now, though.

It stings, even as he tells himself it shouldn’t.

Some bit of the injury must have shown on Fai’s face, because when he looks back at Kurogane, Kurogane is gazing at him in quiet concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.

Fai can’t help but smile at Kurogane’s worry. “Yeah. I’m okay, Kuro-sama.”

“Good.” Kurogane nods and rises to his feet.

Fai bites his tongue to hold back the words it wants to form: _are you leaving again? Can you stay with me instead? I would really like it if you stayed. I’m in pain, I feel like garbage, and you make me feel better so please_ —

Fai doesn’t have a chance to say anything, because Kurogane punches him.

“Punch” is not the right word for it. It’s barely a tap, nothing more than a short, sharp rap of Kurogane’s knuckles on Fai’s forehead. The motion is so quick that it startles Fai; it’s _gentle_ enough to startle him even _more_. Kurogane draws his hand away and sits back, perfectly calm as if he _didn’t_ just punch a man who is too injured to even move.

“Ow,” Fai complains, even though it didn’t hurt. “What was _that_ for?”

“What do you _think_?” Kurogane cross his arms and gazes evenly at Fai without the slightest bit of remorse. “You almost died. If I didn’t hit you, you might try it again.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Fai protests, frowning. “It’s not like I _wanted_ this. I didn’t want to go after Takahiro in the _first_ place. I _told_ you that. I was scared something like this would happen.”

Kurogane still doesn’t look remorseful. But a flicker of something unrecognizable—regret, maybe?—passes through his eyes at the reminder. The relaxed fold of his arms goes tighter, his spine stiffer, the line of his lips firmer. “…I know.”

Kurogane’s voice was quiet. Fai’s is quieter, and the suggestion of regret in Kurogane’s eyes is clear in Fai’s. “Sorry.” Fai looks away, focusing his gaze on an especially interesting wrinkle in the sheets. Is Kurogane still angry with him for what he said when they fought? He must be. Fai doesn’t really blame him, either. “I didn’t mean what I said before, you know? About you not having changed.” Fai glances up to see Kurogane’s eyes narrow, and ah. He _is_ still angry then. Fai sighs and plucks at a loose part of his bandages. “I had… hoped that after everything that happened, we’d… be okay again.”

Kurogane is silent for several beats before speaking hesitantly. “…are we _not_ okay?”

“What?” Kurogane looks visibly confused, and Fai is even _more_ confused. “Aren’t you still mad at me?”

“I’m—” Kurogane blinks at him. “Are _you_ mad at _me_?”

“ _No_ ,” Fai says quickly, “I never _was_. I was just scared and lying. But you were right, and I…” Fai trails off, because Kurogane’s eyes have widened with realization as if he’s just solved a riddle.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Kurogane asks.

Fai remembers… a lot. He remembers the agony of the knife splitting his chest in two. He remembers Kurogane finding him unconscious, even though he doesn’t remember passing out. He remembers begging Kurogane not to leave him. He remembers… “Yukito-kun. He gave me something to drink. It made me dizzy.”

“You don’t remember _anything_ after that?” Kurogane presses.

“No…” Try as he might, trying to chase down the memories is like trying to recall a dream. “Why?”

“We’ve already had this conversation.”

“We— _What_?” Fai stares incredulously at Kurogane, searching for some sign of a lie, but Kurogane’s face is only growing more openly amused while Fai’s grows hotter. “But you _hit_ me!”

“Because you tried to _die_ on me,” Kurogane says as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world. “Do it again, and I’ll hit you again.”

“You—” Fai starts, but he doesn’t know how to follow up the word. He doesn’t know what to say at all, because he doesn’t know what he has _already_ said and forgotten. He doesn’t even know what to _feel_ —happy, annoyed, _confused_ , the feelings all jumbling together in his head. “So… so you’re _not_ mad at me?”

“Oh no, I’m _pissed_ at you,” Kurogane says bluntly. “But not because of what you said. I’m just mad you tried to sacrifice yourself for the kid.”

“You say that like _you_ wouldn’t have done the same,” Fai accuses.

“I would have,” Kurogane agrees, “but that doesn’t mean I have to like _you_ doing it.”

Fai doesn’t state the obvious. He doesn’t say that Kurogane _has_ done it. Kurogane tore off his prosthesis during their fight against Fei Wong Reed in his desperation to save Syaoran. He tried to sacrifice himself for Fai, too—and he was nearly _successful_. Kurogane knows _precisely_ why Fai did what he did; he knows how Fai must have _felt_.

Fai would do anything to keep Kurogane and Syaoran safe.

Kurogane would do the same for him.

Their lives are a Möbius strip of pain and self-sacrifice, never-ending and wrapping over itself until the beginning and ending are both the same as the result itself. Fai can only be grateful that in this case, the strip has snapped and thrown them off into the same point—both of them together.

Both of them _safe_.

“So tell me,” Fai muses at last, “what _did_ I say? Nothing too embarrassing, I hope.”

“Nah,” Kurogane replies smoothly. “You just professed your undying love for me. That’s all.”

Fai blinks. Kurogane is joking. Right? Kurogane _has_ to be joking. But his face betrays nothing, and Fai has to admit that _is_ something he would do. “I hope you said it _back_ , then.”

“Of course,” Kurogane deadpans. “I made a whole grand, sweeping speech about it. Made everybody in the room cry in the end.”

Fai laughs. It hurts, but it’s worth it, especially when the sound makes Kurogane smile too. “I’m sorry I missed it,” Fai teases. “You’ll just have to do it again for me.”

Kurogane lifts a wry brow. “You’ll have to do something to deserve it—something that does _not_ include getting stabbed again,” he adds when Fai opens his mouth to suggest just that. Fai laughs again, but it turns into a yawn that tugs at his stitches. Kurogane leans over to brush the hair from his eyes once more, his touch gentle. “You should rest,” he suggests.

Fai shakes his head. “I don’t want to,” he complains, even though he _does_. His eyelids are almost as heavy as his limbs, and his exhausted body aches for more sleep. “Not until I see Syaoran-kun and Mokona at the very least.”

Kurogane sighs. He rises and retrieves a cup of some foreign, dark liquid from the nearby table. Fai presses back hard against the bed as Kurogane comes close with it, remembering the vile, bitter drink that knocked him out. “No,” he protests adamantly as Kurogane holds it out expectantly. “No way. Whatever that is, I’m not drinking it.”

“It’s not poison,” Kurogane says impatiently. “It’ll get rid of the pain. Drink it.”

“ _No_ ,” Fai repeats more firmly, turning his head away from Kurogane’s outstretched arm and the thick liquid sloshing around in the glass. “It might not be poison, but if it’s anything like that other medicine it will _taste_ like it. I’d rather take the pain.”

“You—” Kurogane breaks off in frustration. “Look, just—watch.” Fai glances back to see Kurogane lift the cup to his lips and take a small sip. No matter how closely Fai stares at him, Kurogane’s expression doesn’t change as he swallows. He holds it back out to Fai and waits. “It has no taste. It’s like _water_.”

Fai looks skeptically at the cup, but with a sigh, he struggles on his elbows and tries to lift himself up so he can take it. Pain and nausea wash over him in waves, and he falls back onto the bed with a wordless sound of pain. The fall, small as it is, sends a jolt of agony through him as his muscles all stiffen, and he closes his eyes in the hopes that it will make the room stop spinning.

Fai’s eyes are still squeezed tightly shut when Kurogane’s arm slides underneath his shoulders, lifting him into a sitting position as if he weighs nothing at all. It hurts to sit up, even with Kurogane’s arm holding him steady, so he reaches hastily for the cup and nearly spills it. He throws it back like a shot. The bitter liquid is like fire on his tongue, the very poison Kurogane assured him it was _not_ , but Kurogane has him at an angle that leaves Fai with the choice to either swallow or drown.

He swallows.

Fai makes a sound of unadulterated disgust as Kurogane eases him back down onto the bed. “I _knew_ it,” he says accusatorily, glaring at Kurogane as best he can from his pathetic position. “You _liar_.”

“Yeah,” Kurogane agrees, taking the now empty cup from Fai’s hand. “You wouldn’t have drank it otherwise.”

“I stand by what I said before,” Fai declares loudly. “My chest hurts less than that _poison_ did. I can still _taste_ it.”

That’s a lie. Fai _does_ still taste the disgusting medicine, but his chest has started to feel as if it is going to split in two and leave him gaping wide open. He barely manages to keep the hard edge of pain out of his voice when he speaks. His hands threaten to betray him; they shake by his sides, so he folds them over his abdomen and hides them beneath his arms. Even his breathing is beginning to grow strained again as his body raises alarm bells.

Kurogane leans in over Fai to press a soft kiss to his lips right when Fai is considering opening them to tell Kurogane he can leave, if only so he can stop trying to hide the pain for fear of that guilt returning to Kurogane’s face. Fai’s eyes lid at the touch, his mind and body stilling with the brush of Kurogane’s lips against his. It doesn’t get rid of the pain—Kurogane isn’t _magic_ , however much kissing him may give Fai the same floaty feeling his spells do—but it numbs it, dims the scream to a dull roar.

Kurogane is his anchor point. Fai can always rely on him to keep him grounded.

When Kurogane pulls away, Fai’s first instinct is to chase his lips. He tries, but he _can’t_. He sinks back down with a disappointed sigh that quirks up one corner of Kurogane’s mouth. “It should start working soon,” Kurogane tells him. It takes Fai a moment to realize that Kurogane means the medicine and not the magic of the kiss. He wonders distantly if he hit his head as well. “Rest. I’ll get the kid.”

Fai doesn’t _want_ to rest, however tired he may be. He’s slept enough already; several _days_ have been lost to sleep. He wants to follow Kurogane as he leaves, wants to pull him into another kiss so he can try to chase away some of the pain that is still radiating through his body. He can’t, though. Without his permission, his eyelids close.

“Fai-san!”

Fai is nearly asleep when Syaoran calls his name. He jolts back into wakefulness with a quiet sound of pain as his heart attempts to escape through the wound in his chest. He blinks hard and jumps as Mokona lands on him, crashing down only a few inches away from his stitches.

“Fai is awake!” she cries, nestling into the crook of his neck. Fai has barely set a hand on her before Syaoran rushes in, skidding to a stop and falling where Kurogane was previously sitting.

“You’re awake,” Syaoran breathes, eyes wide.

“I am awake,” Fai confirms with a laugh. He pets Mokona’s ears, wincing as her foot scrapes against his wound. Syaoran seems to notice; he scoops her up despite her quiet complaints.

“Are you okay?” Syaoran asks as he sets Mokona on his shoulder, brows upturned and hands fidgeting. “I mean, I know you’re not, but—”

“I’m okay,” Fai assures him. “I’ll have a pretty scar, but I’m alright. Are _you_?”

“I’m _fine_!” Syaoran says hastily. “I—”

“Syaoran is brave!” Mokona announces as she hops onto Syaoran’s shoulder. “Takahiro is a bully! Takahiro hurt Syaoran again!” She puffs up proudly. “But everyone stopped Takahiro! Even Mokona helped!”

Kurogane rolls his eyes, but he nods. “The manjû is right,” he admits begrudgingly. “It helped.”

“I wanted to see you before now,” Syaoran complains quietly, his bitterness reluctant. “Kurogane-san wouldn’t let me.”

Fai lifts a brow at Kurogane, who shrugs. “Daddy was protecting you. He didn’t want you to see me while I was hurt,” Fai offers gently. “I _asked_ him not to.”

Syaoran’s shoulders slump. “Oh.”

“I thought it was for the best,” Fai explains. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry. It’s my fault you were hurt in the first place.” Syaoran drops his head and looks down at his knees. “I’m so _sorry_ , Fai-san. If I’d been paying more attention, then you wouldn’t have—”

“Hey, hey, no,” Fai murmurs, brows knitting together in concern. He reaches up to touch Syaoran’s cheek as Syaoran’s hands fist atop his thighs, his head still downturned. A tear skips over Fai’s fingers to plop onto Syaoran’s lap, and more than anything, Fai wishes he could sit up to hug Syaoran right now. “It’s not your fault. If I hadn’t done anything, you would have been hurt—maybe even _killed_. I would never have forgiven myself if that happened.”

“Still—” Syaoran’s shoulders jump; the word hitches as it leaves him. “I—”

Kurogane whacks Syaoran on the head with so much force that even Fai winces.

Syaoran blinks up at Kurogane, too stunned to be wounded. Another tear follows the premade tracks down his cheek, but his wide eyes are so startled that the pain and guilt are all but gone.

“Even if it _is_ your fault,” Kurogane says gruffly, ruffling Syaoran’s hair before withdrawing his hand, “feeling bad won’t solve anything. The mage made his decision to protect you. You just have to learn from your mistakes and move forward.”

Fai cocks his head and smiles up at Kurogane. “Speaking from experience, are we?”

“Shut up.”

Syaoran touches the top of his head, gaze distant with dawning realization as he absorbs Kurogane’s words. When he looks back at Fai, his face is determined despite the lingering tears that sit at the corners of his eyes. “Then… thank you,” he says simply, “for saving me.”

Fai’s gaze grows soft. “You’re welcome.” The words are a strange shape on his tongue, Fai being unused to being the one accepting gratitude rather than giving it. He doesn’t say Syaoran doesn’t need to thank him, even though it’s _true_ ; Fai would make the same choice over and over again. Syaoran’s life is reward enough; Fai needs nothing else, nothing but Syaoran’s smile. He wonders distantly if this fierce protectiveness is how Ashura felt toward him.

He wonders if…

“You know,” Fai says hesitantly, “I think I’ve thought of something that would make me feel better.” Syaoran’s eyes are curious, searching. “Your smile.”

Syaoran blinks, then blinks again, cheeks turning red as he realizes Fai is serious. He drops his gaze from Fai’s face, hands fidgeting in his lap. Fai almost feels _bad_ for suggesting it, but then—

Syaoran smiles.

He looks back up and lets his slowly reddening face break into a smile, honest and pure despite the streaks of tears drying on his skin. Fai is startled into stunned silence; it takes several breaths before he remembers he’s supposed to respond.

“Yeah.” Fai’s voice goes funny as his throat tightens for a reason he can’t quite name. He had thought Ashura was lying when he said Fai’s smile helped to heal him. Now he thinks he might have been telling the truth. “I feel better already.”

Syaoran’s blush deepens. He drops his gaze back to his knees and stares down in silence for several seconds. Then he stands so abruptly that he nearly trips over Kurogane’s foot. “Yukito-san will want to know you’re awake,” he considers loudly, still staring at the floor as he walks stiffly toward the door, taking Mokona with him. “I’ll go look for him!”

Kurogane and Fai stare silently at Syaoran’s rapidly retreating form before Fai dissolves into a fit of laughter. “I think I embarrassed him,” Fai says, pressing the tips of his fingers lightly to his lips as he grins. “I know I was the one who suggested it, but I wasn’t expecting that to actually make me feel better.”

“He’s a good kid,” Kurogane agrees as he takes back his place by Fai’s side. “He cares about you.”

“I know.” Fai doesn’t need to be told, nor does he need to say he feels the same. He has the wound to prove it. He sighs, his smile falling away. “I just wish he wouldn’t blame himself.”

Kurogane hums, glancing at the door Syaoran disappeared through. “He’d blame himself no matter who got hurt, even if it were a stranger. He’s just like that.”

“He is,” Fai agrees, “but I wish he weren’t.” He takes a deep breath that strains his muscles and tugs the bandages on his chest taut, grimacing as it hurts.

The medicine has helped; Fai no longer feels the pain with as much clarity—no longer feels _anything_ with as much clarity. The medicine has dulled all of his senses, not just the ones spouting pain, and his thoughts feel as if they’re moving slowly and without purpose. It’s a pleasant sensation, as odd as it is, one that makes him feel floaty despite the weight in his limbs.

Fai glances back at Kurogane, who is studying his face with an unreadable expression that almost looks like worry again. “You know,” Fai muses, “I bet it would make me feel better if _you_ smiled too.”

Kurogane snorts and crosses his arms. “Not happening.”

“Why not?” Fai asks petulantly. “You smiled earlier.”

“I’m not gonna do that kind of thing on command.”

“But why _not_?” Fai whines. Kurogane looks at him like he _wants_ to be irritated by Fai’s pestering but is too tired to. “Don’t you want me to feel better?”

“That’s what the _medicine_ is for.”

Fai huffs an exaggerated sigh. “You’re no fun.”

“Exactly what part of you lying here half-conscious and bloody and loopy is supposed to be _fun_?” Kurogane growls.

“Fine, fine,” Fai says flippantly, waving his hand in dismissal as he drags his gaze from Kurogane’s scowl to the ceiling. “Don’t smile. I’ll _probably_ still live. If you’re really so upset, you could just try crying over me instead.”

“I didn’t.”

Kurogane’s response is immediate. The red spreading over his cheeks is slower. Fai glances at him in confusion, and Kurogane maintains eye contact for only a few seconds before looking sharply away. He is very quiet; the firm line of his lips is loud.

“I didn’t say…” Fai trails off as realization dawns on him even more slowly than Kurogane’s blush. “Kuro-sama, did you—”

“ _No_ ,” Kurogane snaps. He won’t look at Fai, but he doesn’t need to. His refusal to, combined with his abrupt anger and the still-deepening color of his skin, are honest enough on their own.

“You _did_! You _actually_ cried over me!”

“I did _not_.”

“Kuro-tan, that’s so _sweet_!” Fai laughs. He shifts onto his elbows in an attempt to sit up, momentarily forgetting that he isn’t supposed to move.

He instantly regrets it.

Fai’s mind is calm, no longer screaming at the sensation of his blood boiling him alive, but even with the medicine numbing him, that slight movement is enough to send another stab of agony through him. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut as his spine stiffens automatically in protest. He exhales slowly through the pain, and when he opens his eyes, Kurogane is gazing at him again, face drawn. There is just enough of a remnant of Kurogane’s buried grief in the red-rimmed crimson of his narrowed eyes that Fai no longer wants to laugh.

Fai reaches out a hand as he murmurs some version of Kurogane’s name—a nickname or his actual name, he doesn’t know, because all he’s thinking about is that ghost of suffering he sees in Kurogane’s eyes—suffering over _him_.

Kurogane takes Fai’s hand in both of his. He closes his eyes with a long sigh and braces their clasped hands to where his ever-furrowed brows have worn ridges into his skin. Fai doesn’t speak again; he merely gazes up at Kurogane’s face, at where his eyes are hidden beneath the shadow of their hands. Kurogane’s breathing is even and steady—until it’s not.

“I thought you were going to die,” Kurogane admits so quietly Fai can barely hear him.

 _I couldn’t do anything to stop it this time_.

Kurogane doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to. Fai hears the words left unspoken.

Kurogane does fine with loss. Kurogane does fine with pain, both physical and emotional, fine with grief and death and all the millions of smaller, nameless emotions that go along with them. Kurogane faces down death with anger and a grin, ready to take out his frustration at having something he loves stolen away from him out on death’s very messenger.

Kurogane does fine with loss—as long as there is something in front of him that he can cut with his sword.

He does poorly if there isn’t.

Kurogane had said Fai’s injuries were severe. Fai thinks he’s starting to realize just how severe they really were. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

Kurogane gives the slightest of nods, hands going the tiniest bit tighter around Fai’s. “I thought—” Kurogane’s breath catches enough to make Fai’s stop entirely. “—I was going to lose you.”

The hoarseness in Kurogane’s voice tugs at Fai’s stitches. “You didn’t,” he says softly. “You’re stuck with me.” Kurogane says nothing, but his breathing hitches before shuddering free. His hands are still painfully tight on Fai’s, and his lips bear guilt, so plainly evident that Fai thinks he could learn the taste of it if he were to kiss him.

“It isn’t your fault,” Fai murmurs. Kurogane is not one to blame himself, but Kurogane is not one to cry over someone either. “You didn’t know. You could never have known.”

It truly isn’t Kurogane’s fault that Fai was injured. It isn’t Syaoran’s fault either. It isn’t even really Fai’s. A million universes, a million scenarios, and it would have ended the same way. No one is to blame but the very makeup of their cells.

Kurogane was always going to go after Takahiro.

Fai was never going to let him go alone.

“I know.” Kurogane’s voice is quiet. His unsteady breathing evens out after a long, deep inhale, and he lifts his head to frown down at Fai. His eyes are thankfully dry; Fai doesn’t know what he would have done if they weren’t. “Idiot,” Kurogane adds almost as an afterthought, as if the insult got lost on its way out of his mouth.

It’s such a very Kurogane-like way of expressing concern that Fai finds himself smiling in spite of everything. He wiggles his fingers, and Kurogane releases them. He grabs the front of Kurogane’s shirt and tugs lightly. “Come here,” Fai says. “I can’t sit up to kiss you.”

Kurogane rolls his eyes, but he lets Fai drag him down into a kiss without complaint. Kurogane’s lips are soft and warm, and Fai tastes none of the guilt he saw before. He tastes only Kurogane, familiar and reassuring even as this odd angle. It quiets the last remnants of pain on the edges of Fai’s mind; he hopes it does the same for Kurogane.

When Kurogane straightens up, Fai’s smile is unconscious. “I knew your kiss was magic,” Fai teases.

Kurogane lifts a brow, but his face mirrors Fai’s, unconscious smile and all. “You _really_ need to sleep.”

Kurogane is right; Fai is _exhausted_. Every bone in Fai’s body cries out for proper rest. “Fine. But _only_ if you stay here with me.” He hesitates, then adds softly, “You don’t have to. I just… don’t like sleeping without you.”

Kurogane gazes at him for another moment before lifting the corner of the sheets. “Scoot over,” he says. “I don’t think I can sleep without your snoring anyway.”

Fai gives Kurogane a withering glare before carefully— _very_ carefully—shuffling to the side to make space for him. “I do _not_ snore,” he objects.

Kurogane snorts a quiet laugh as he lies down next to Fai. Fai shifts so he can nestle himself into Kurogane’s arms without hurting his chest too much. It’s an awkward position, with Fai still lying on his back and Kurogane’s arms around him, but it’s the only one that doesn’t cause Fai pain. Kurogane’s arms go around him to hold him loosely enough that they don’t hurt but tight enough for him to feel safe and secure. Fai breathes in the smell of him, oddly floral in this strange, colorful jungle country, but still decidedly Kurogane. He closes his eyes and rests his head on Kurogane’s chest with a contented sigh. Kurogane, too, relaxes into the embrace, as if everything has fallen back into place with Fai’s return to his arms. His heartbeat is slow and steady beneath Fai’s cheek, his breathing even more so, and Fai spends a time listening to them both as he tries to decide if interrupting Kurogane’s calm is worth it.

“Kuro-tan?” Fai whispers at last. Kurogane doesn’t respond. “…are you asleep?” Kurogane gives a quiet grunt of acknowledgment. Not asleep then. Fai’s smile is soft. “When is the last time you slept?”

Kurogane hums in consideration. “Not sure. I fell asleep 24 hours after the healer saw you. I woke up though. The kid wouldn’t quit trying to sneak in.”

Of _course_. Syaoran was never going to sit idly by while someone he cared about was injured. “That’s very specific,” Fai teases.

“Yeah. That healer said you’d be okay if you made it through 24 hours, so.”

Fai’s face heats up where it rests against Kurogane’s chest. Kurogane, despite his own injuries and his own exhaustion, stayed awake at Fai’s side until he was positive Fai would survive.

Kurogane _stayed_.

Fai’s chest aches elsewhere, in a place that isn’t wounded. He knew Kurogane cared about him—has known since Tokyo, when Kurogane didn’t even hesitate in sacrificing his freedom to keep Fai alive—but sometimes his feelings are especially clear.

“Kuron-pi claimed he didn’t care about me, but he stayed up to watch over me and even cried over me,” Fai lilts quietly.

Kurogane lifts one of his hands and feels for Fai’s face. Upon finding it, he pushes down over Fai’s eyes, his thumb catching Fai in the nose and prompting a laugh. “Shut up,” Kurogane complains. “Go to sleep.” He keeps his hand on Fai’s face for another few seconds before he returns it to its previous place on Fai’s abdomen, holding him closer than ever as his breathing returns to one of near-sleep.

Fai closes his eyes once more, his lids too heavy to stay up. Sleep creeps in through his wounds, through the bruise on his left wrist and the gash on his right, through the slowly healing holes in his chest and his side that offer it access to his lung. He breathes in sleep, and he is only able to resist it when he remembers why he asked Kurogane if he was awake in the first place. “Hey,” Fai murmurs, lifting his arm to set his hand atop Kurogane’s, twining their fingers together. Kurogane squeezes his hand in response. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Kurogane mumbles. The words are so slurred together with exhaustion that they’re barely clear enough to make out, but Fai would know what Kurogane meant even if all he had done was make a single sound.

It’s not quite a grand, sweeping speech, but it will do. It will do just fine.

* * *

 

Even after Fai wakes, it takes several more days before he’s able to do much of anything.

Before his chest was injured, Fai never realized how every little movement tugs at it. He’s barely able to _move_ , even with the medicine, let alone get up. He’s stuck and bored—so _bored_ —in the little room, forced to spend all of his time staring at the walls or affectionately bickering with Kurogane. Fai is fairly certain he will be traveling through the maze-like lines of the ceiling in his dreams.

Yukito checks on him periodically. He needs to make sure Fai isn’t dying, neither from the wound in his chest nor from Kurogane finally killing him. Saiki drops by only once, telling Fai and Kurogane that he appreciates all they’ve done and that Takahiro is once again in custody. Kurogane almost seems disappointed by the revelation.

Syaoran and Mokona check on Fai _more_ than periodically. When Fai wakes the morning after that first night, still curled up safely in Kurogane’s arms, he sees Syaoran slumped against the wall fast asleep, Mokona in his arms and his head at an angle that is _surely_ painful.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Syaoran explains sheepishly when Fai confronts him about it, but Fai’s gentle scolding isn’t enough to make him stay away. The next morning, Syaoran is once again slouched against the wall. After the third morning in a row, Fai and Kurogane _both_ forcefully insist Syaoran sleep in his _own_ room. _Fai’s_ neck hurts just looking at him.

Syaoran _tries_ to stay with Fai during the day as well. He’s fine at first, visibly relieved that Fai is alright and happy to sit with him and talk about nothing in particular. But before long, he begins to grow fidgety and restless. Syaoran never _admits_ that he’s bored, but he starts bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers without realizing it. If asked, Fai knows that Syaoran would say he’s perfectly happy staying inside, but since _Fai_ is not perfectly happy doing so, Syaoran _definitely_ isn’t.

Kurogane does best with a job to do. Syaoran does too, so Fai comes up with “missions” to send Syaoran out on: go look for the biggest purple flower in the jungle, tell me about the strangest animal, bring me the tastiest fruit. Syaoran is _more_ than happy to oblige, thrilled to have a task to occupy his attention, and he heads out with such gusto that it makes Fai laugh. Syaoran reports back very seriously about the outcome of his missions when he returns after a few hours, and Fai falls asleep several nights listening to him.

Kurogane is the only one who remains by Fai’s side 24/7.

Kurogane frequently _threatens_ to leave, but he never actually does. He stays with Fai, sometimes leaning against the wall, sometimes reclining next to him, but always within sight. He often reads, and Fai pesters him to read _to_ him for entertainment, only to make fun of him when Kurogane finally _does_.

“Is that the maiden or the knight?” Fai wonders aloud.

Kurogane glares over the pages of the book at him. “ _Neither_. It’s the wizard.”

“Oh,” Fai says, nodding seriously. “Sorry. I couldn’t tell. They all sound like–” he drops his voice to a monotone growl– “’ _I’ll_ _save you_.’”

The book misses Fai’s head by less than an inch.

At night, Kurogane stays even closer to him. It has been many worlds since they have willingly slept separately, but after being so near to death so many times, they seek each other’s comfort so fiercely that they can scarcely be pried apart. Even on the nights when Fai falls asleep with Syaoran talking to him, he wakes with Kurogane’s arms around him, the lantern snuffed out and Kurogane’s rhythmic breathing steady against his skin. He falls back asleep easily to it, no matter how intense his pain may be.

When Fai is held in Kurogane’s embrace, he rarely dreams.

Kurogane does.

Fai wakes in the small hours of the night when Kurogane’s hand scrapes over the cut in his side. It isn’t a rough movement. It doesn’t hurt. But it startles Fai awake, because Kurogane so rarely moves in his sleep that even a motion that small is unexpected. Fai blinks into the blackness, trying to will his sleep-blurred gaze into focus even as his heavy eyelids try to force him back into slumber. He picks out small details: the dusty moonlight filtered through the window, the familiar outline of Kurogane’s sharp profile, the rhythmic rise and fall of Kurogane’s chest—except that it _isn’t_ rhythmic. It’s stuttered, sporadic, and when Fai mumbles his name and shakes his shoulder, it swells into a gasp.

Kurogane’s arms seize tight and unthinking around Fai as he wakes up. Fai can’t gulp back the pain; it escapes him as a small sound, and that small sound is loud enough that Kurogane jerks his arms back as if he has been shocked. He presses his palms to eyes with a long, slow sigh.

Fai doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Kurogane doesn’t offer an explanation. Neither of them _has_ to speak, because _both_ of them understand. Dreams are just dreams, nightmares are just nightmares, but the pain they bring is as real as any wound.

Fai offers comfort in the only way he can. He stays pressed in close to Kurogane, an arm over his waist and his head on his chest, until Kurogane lowers his hands to rest an arm over Fai’s shoulders and draw him in even closer. Kurogane’s lips are soft as they touch the top of Fai’s head, urging Fai back to slumber that Fai hopes Kurogane follows him into.

Even with their shared pain, nights are easier, Fai decides quickly. Days are the _worst_.

Days, especially in Aria, are long, and they’re _boring_. Fai complains about this fact _very_ loudly. Kurogane is no good at reading to him, and _Fai_ can’t read any of Aria’s books or the books that Kurogane has tucked away. Fai can only play so many speech games with Mokona and talk to Syaoran for so long about the biology of the strange flora and fauna of the jungle before he starts to feel a sense of déjà vu and the disturbing sense that he will be trapped in this room _forever_.

“I want to go _outside_ ,” Fai whines one day. Kurogane, lounging against the wall with a book in his hands that he is _not_ reading aloud, glances up briefly. “Isn’t fresh air supposed to be good when you’re sick?”

“You’re not sick,” Kurogane reminds him as he snaps his book shut. “You’re _hurt_.”

Fai waves a hand. “Surely the same thing applies. I haven’t seen the sky in _months_.”

“It’s barely been a week.”

“How would _I_ know?” Fai grumbles. “I’m cooped up in here. I don’t even remember what sunlight _feels_ like.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. You can’t even walk. You couldn’t even sit _up_ until a couple days ago. How would you get outside?”

Kurogane has a point. Fai is propped up against the pillows, a feat which he only accomplished with Kurogane’s assistance. Maybe trying to go outside _isn’t_ the best idea, he thinks as he gazes at where Kurogane’s arms have folded over his chest, the book in his lap.

Unless…

Fai smiles. He extends his arms.

Kurogane blinks and narrows his eyes. Then he blinks _again_ , and his eyes go wide. He shakes his head adamantly; Fai nods with equal enthusiasm. “ _No_ ,” Kurogane growls. “I am _not_ carrying you.”

Fai nods again. He spreads his arms further apart, and he beams at Kurogane.

“I am _not_ —”

It’s nice outside—hot, but nice.

Fai stays in Kurogane’s arms even after they’ve settled into the courtyard out back of the palace. He leans back against Kurogane, sitting in his lap, one of Kurogane’s arms around his waist to steady him. Fai doesn’t mind the heat one bit; after so long trapped inside (“Just a week,” Kurogane tells him again), the warmth of the sun on his skin is intoxicating. In the late afternoon light, the trees cast long shadows across the grass, and when Fai spreads his fingers they cast branch-like darkness over his thighs as well. It takes some effort for him to do so; his fingers still struggle to work after having the tendons and ligaments in his hand torn, but it’s easier than it was a week ago.

“Aria really is beautiful,” Fai says softly. It _is_ ; the jungle smells of flowers and fruit, scents carried along the cooling breeze. All around them, animals hoot and holler, birds chirping happily and furry creatures calling to one another. Cicadas whir with renewed gusto, as if Fai’s compliment was meant for them alone. The jungle is as deep and dark as ever, but it no longer feels oppressive, because Takahiro is no longer among the life it holds. “We should come back here on vacation sometime.”

Kurogane sighs and rests his chin on Fai’s shoulder. “I’d really rather not.”

Fai laughs. He’s surprised to hear the sound of it echo back to him. A bird flits down onto the grass a few feet away and tilts its head at him, its green and red feathers shining in the bright light. It opens its beak and repeats the trilling laugh. Fai gasps softly and claps his hands in delight. “It’s copying me!”

“It’s _creepy_ ,” Kurogane complains. The bird tilts its head the other way and hops a few stuttered steps closer. It flies up, and Fai is disappointed at first.

Then it perches on Fai’s hand.

Fai’s eyes widen. He stops breathing for fear that he’ll scare the bird away, but the bird merely looks at him, its feet rough and talons sharp around his finger. “Hi there, little one,” Fai coos.

“Shoo.” Kurogane flips his hand at it, and Fai smacks him lightly.

“Stop it,” Fai hisses. The bird flaps its wings, and Fai is about to berate Kurogane for scaring it off when it lands on _Kurogane_ instead.

Kurogane gives a choked sound and nearly knocks Fai from his lap as the bird’s talons dig into his shoulder. He swipes at it, but the bird moves to his head instead. “Get _off_ ,” Kurogane growls desperately as he snatches at it. The bird flits up a foot or so then plops back down on him.

“It likes you!” Fai laughs, and the bird mimics the sound once more. “Kuro-sama, someone has a crush on you!”

“I don’t have a crush on _it_!” Kurogane tries and fails once more to grab it off his head. The bird is even more persistent than Mokona. If Fai didn’t know better, he’d think it was messing with Kurogane on purpose.

Fai laughs again and ducks out of the way as Kurogane struggles with the bird. “Go on,” Fai tells it, grinning. “You can’t have him, sorry. He’s mine.”

The bird finally admits defeat and flies away, and they’re left in peace.

“’Mine,’ huh?” Kurogane comments, lifting a brow as the flapping of the bird’s wings fades. “Since when do I belong to you?”

“Since the first time you kissed me,” Fai says without missing a beat. “Since the moment I became yours too. I’m not giving you to anyone—not even a bird.”

Kurogane rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yep,” Fai agrees with a smile. “But I’m _your_ idiot.”

“Yeah. You are.”

Kurogane leans down to kiss Fai’s pleased laugh. Fai quite likes belonging to Kurogane—quite likes Kurogane belonging to _him_ , too. He never thought he would be able to say that. He never thought he would be so lucky as to fall in love with a man as wonderful as Kurogane, let alone be able to call Kurogane “mine.”

 _Mine_.

It’s only four letters, but each one is laced with meaning. Each one is laced with _memories_ : Kurogane yelling at him when Fai gave him his first nickname, Fai’s lips closing over Kurogane’s bleeding wrist after Kurogane tied himself to Fai forever to keep him alive, their first kiss—so like this one and yet so different, awkward and fumbling and perfect in its imperfection, just like them.

Fai never imagined he would be able to call the ninja from Suwa a _friend_ , let alone anything more. But here they are—Fai nestled in Kurogane’s lap with his hand on Kurogane’s cheek, Kurogane’s arms wrapped securely around him.

Here they are, able to call each other “mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ringing cowbell* WHO WANTS SOME FLUFF! COME GET YA FLUFF!
> 
> I'd apologize for not much happening in this chapter but I'm not sorry at all. fluff is everything I live for.
> 
> thanks as always to my dear beta Freddie for catching my mistakes. sorry for not having any scenes with my bastard son Takahiro in this chapter for you.


End file.
